


If it's Us

by MisakillDatMonkey



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Anthology Fic, I guess.., M/M, Slow Burn, The scenario as closed as I imagined it after ROK, post rok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-06 22:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11610660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisakillDatMonkey/pseuds/MisakillDatMonkey
Summary: Back when we did the Anthology during Fall 2016 I imagined the post-ROK relationship Misaki and Saruhiko could build over a trip for a skateboard competition. I guess it's one more of the many versions we all imagined..





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter i.**

You know stories like those romantic comedies beginning with person A sitting in a plane in a random row? The ones that lead into person B miraculously having to sit next to A for a 24 hours long trip? And then shit happens, and an area of turbulence later, they’re holding hands after a near-death experience in which they confessed? Well… This is not that kind of story, sorry. Or at least, not exactly.

But before we even get to that part, we need to go back to several days prior. In Reisi Munakata’s office, right in the center of Scepter 4 headquarters. 

 

It was early June and everyone in Scepter 4 had started to suffer from heat. Wearing a complete uniform when the temperatures were raising fast was an ordeal. Saruhiko Fushimi, who especially suffered from heat, really hated the world at the moment.

The Slate had been destroyed five months ago, but Scepter 4 hadn’t disappeared with it. Quite the reverse, in fact. Strains still roamed the streets and someone had to take care of them, to register them, to help them now that they were the last to hold any power – or to arrest them when they used that power to bully people or get into illegal businesses. That was the special mission of Scepter 4 now and it didn’t bother Saruhiko to keep that job.

It would have been lying to say that Misaki’s words had totally opened Saruhiko’s eyes on how Scepter 4 was the perfect place for him; how they all were family and Munakata was like a father to him and oh-so-many other inanities. He still had insecurities, still preferred when people minded their own business instead of being nosy about his own, still was somehow quite antisocial and not very tolerant with humans… But, yeah, it was true that he eventually felt like he belonged somewhere. And he acknowledged that it was pleasant to feel that way.

But right now, when he was just about melting in his uniform, standing very still in a patch of light, the scorching sun radiating through the window directly onto him and roasting him nicely while he waited for the Captain to tell him what “important mission” he had been assigned to… Fuck yes, he really hated the world and basically regretted all of his life choices at the moment.

Still, he waited, hands clasped behind his back, Subaru hanging from his hip, and looking at the bamboo bars with a bored expression. He longed for a fresh can of coke and a shadowy spot…

“Please, excuse me for making you wait so long, Fushimi-kun,” the Captain eventually said long minutes later, catching his attention again.

“What did you need me for, Sir?”

Munakata leaned back in his chair, intertwining his longs fingers before his face, forefingers on the tip of his nose, suddenly looking like someone lost in thought. Saruhiko knew what it meant and what was coming, and realized Munakata wasn’t apologizing for the previous waiting but for the time he was going to make him waste now.

“There was a time when I requested that you learn how to speak a foreign language. We discussed how important it was to be able to communicate with…”

“Do you need me to assist you as an interpreter?” Saruhiko cut him off without an ounce of regret.

After all, he really was melting and he knew by now how to make things go faster with his boss. Munakata had, indeed, asked him to learn how to speak English years before. He had, with surprising ease, and if he was needed now to translate anything, it was fine with him. No need for Saruhiko to liquefy himself on the floor in the process.

The Captain smiled. Saruhiko knew he was fucked. It wasn’t rare for Munakata to smile, but each of those grins meant something. And the one he was now wearing, thin and holding millions of secrets, wasn’t one Saruhiko liked to see. He knew that more was to come and that it wasn’t as simple as he had been led to believe.

“I do indeed, or should I say…” And the Captain -so pleased with himself- took his sweet time, just for the sake of pointless suspense. “Yata Misaki-kun does.”

That must have been it. The heat was too strong and Saruhiko, suffering heat stroke, had simply passed out and was now delirious.

“I beg your pardon, Sir?” he dared to ask, because for sure he had misunderstood.

“Yata-kun,” Munakata repeated, a light grin pulling the corner of his mouth up just enough to mock Saruhiko, “as you know, won his skateboarding contest two months ago. Quite impressive, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Saruhiko lied, averting his eyes.

He _knew_. The day of the contest, he had managed to escape duty just half an hour to see Misaki compete and win, hidden in the shadow of the tiers. He had never told anyone. Neither Misaki, nor Munakata. No one. But, of course, there wasn’t much you could hide from the Captain. He should have known better.

“Of course. Well, I guess you will be content to learn that Yata-kun was very successful that day. That achievement also earned him the right to compete in a larger competition in Tampa, Florida, at the end of the following week.”

Saruhiko didn’t flinch or show any sign that he knew where all of this was going, and the truth was that he didn’t know how to react. He had the intel - the fact that Misaki was going to have to spend a week in Tampa, in the state of Florida - since he had (just out of curiosity) literally dissected the tournament website to fish information out about the competition. But there was only one reason Munakata could have linked this information with him.

“Misaki— _Yata_ barely knows how to speak Japanese,” Saruhiko stated because it was so much of a habit to tease the HOMRA vanguard that he did it even when he wasn’t there.

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Fushimi-kun. But then, you will certainly agree that he can’t speak English either. Thus, I’m expecting you to accompany him to Tampa and to help him through the week,” the Captain said, content.

From ‘ _No_ ’ to ‘ _Are you fucking kidding_ ’, and not forgetting ‘ _Fuck my life_ ’ - there were a billion things Saruhiko almost said. He forced himself to master his emotions instead and, maybe a bit stiffly, said, “Kusanagi-san is perfectly fluent. And a member of HOMRA should go with him.”

“Regrettably, no _adult_ English speaker we know is available for the trip, Fushimi-kun.”

“No adult English speaker,” Saruhiko repeated, not believing his ears. Munakata the Fallacious smiled wider. But rather than taking that as an offense or taking the bait, the blue clansman decided to use it to his advantage. “Then it’s not the best idea to send me there. I can’t handle a child either.”

“Oh but I’m sure you’ll do a fine job, Fushimi-kun. You’re more than qualified for this. After all, you took care of Yata-kun when you lived with him, didn’t you? You know him, and I was under the impression you two were on the best of terms now.”

“So optimistic,” Saruhiko drawled, rolling his eyes.

Because he definitely wouldn’t have said that. That choice of words wasn’t the wisest. First, it was totally incorrect to state that he had taken care of Misaki back in the day. He would never admit it, but if one of the two had been taking care of the other, it definitely had been Misaki taking care of him: cooking for him, making sure he ate properly and slept enough, doing all those little things… And it had lessened after they’d joined HOMRA, but the fact still didn’t change.

Now, the other assertion wasn’t exactly correct either. They _weren’t_ on the best of terms now. Of course, Saruhiko didn’t throw knives at Misaki anymore whenever they saw each other (it was only on rare occurrences and, whatever!), because they didn’t even see each other that much. The promised _big talk_ had never come. They were polite to each other, but there was more than that, too. Each time they saw each other, it was either an awkward and unplanned encounter that had Saruhiko’s stomach fluttering and where few words were exchanged… Or it was related to a Strain chase and Misaki was just being loud and Saruhiko too busy.

“Optimism is the beginning of happiness, Fushimi-kun,” the Captain said.

“So say the simple-minded,” the clansman mumbled back.

The Captain politely pretended he hadn’t heard that, probably because they also both knew he wasn’t really the optimistic kind either.

“Anyway, everything has been discussed already between both parties. It’s settled—“

“Excuse me if I’m being silly, Captain, but I thought _I_ was a party, and _he_ was the other, and I don’t remember us discussing anything.”

“That’s quite interesting, then! Maybe you should take the day off and meet Yata-kun to announce to him the great news. I’m not sure our estimated Kusanagi-san has had the occasion to do so yet.”

Munakata was sly. Slyer than the slyest fox.

“I’ll politely decline that offer. I have a month of reports to clean some doodles off of, thanks to our own ginger idiot,” Saruhiko deadpanned, and quickly turned away.

It had been too close, and thankfully, Munakata didn’t call him back. He had a few days to either prepare himself mentally or to leave the country. No need to rush…

 

No need to rush. Right. The truth was… even if he had had months, Saruhiko wouldn’t have been prepared enough. And now that he was sitting next to Misaki in that airplane ready to take off for a fifteen-hour trip, he regretted it. All over again, the life choices thing.

Just as expected, he hadn’t called Misaki, and Misaki hadn’t called him. They hadn’t met. Nothing of the sort. They had just been driven to the airport of Tokyo in the beginning of the afternoon that Monday by Kusanagi for one (and with all HOMRA there to loudly cheer the skater through the entire hall of the airport, thank you very much), and Awashima for the other (alone and, like a busy mom, she hadn’t even taken the time to kiss him goodbye on the cheek, just formally wishing him a safe trip).

Then Saruhiko had been standing awkwardly next to the only person who wasn’t all cheerful at all, aka Misaki. The latter was smiling sheepishly from time to time, rubbing the back of his head with a hand, but he clearly was uncomfortable with the whole situation and Saruhiko had figured that it was better to give them some space and privacy. (Well, as private you could be when you were a bunch of hooligans cheering your best element in the most obnoxious manner, that is).

But then the inevitable had happened and they both had had to pass through the terminal, leaving behind that joyful (and terribly annoying) crowd to sit and wait for their flight to take off. Misaki had said a few words. They were an attempt at thanking Saruhiko for accompanying him on this trip and _ya know_ helping him out. Saruhiko had waved the speech away, hunching in on himself and fishing out his PDA to hide behind it for the next hour. He didn’t feel ready. He wondered if he would at some point, and he had no idea why he felt so nervous.

But maybe it was just the realization dawning on him that had him so lost: Saruhiko was leaving the country, and all his bearings, behind him for a whole week and he would be stuck with Misaki. No wonder he was so nervous.

He would be stuck with a man who had been so many things to him in so little time. Who had been everything, and then had become someone whom he had try to bury along with his memories. Who had been his best friend, his sworn enemy and then his life-savior. Yes, Misaki was so many, _too_ many things, and Saruhiko had just realized how complicated this was going to be.

 

 

**Chapter ii.**

“Tell me you’re not subject to the fear of flying,” Saruhiko drawled, rolling his eyes.

They were about to take off, and Yata’s knuckles were white from clenching them on the retractable shelf in front of him. He felt nauseous and didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just shook his head instead, looking straight forward.

“You totally are,” Saruhiko sighed insufferably and clicked his tongue. Goddammit, he was more tolerable when he was silently fiddling with his PDA. But now that they were on the plane, he had to open his mouth, and, as usual, it wasn’t to offer him any kind words.

“I never took a plane before,” Yata protested, forcing himself to turn his head and look at the blue clansman. And it wasn’t only that. He had never left the country before. And, even worse, now he faced the perspective of spending a whole week stuck with Saruhiko in a country he didn’t know the language of.

If someone had offered him such a trip when he was 14 or 15, Yata would have been so enthusiastic and all fired-up. But things had changed, right? He wasn’t sitting next to his best friend. He was sitting next to the grown-up version of _something_ that had been anything but his best friend for the past years.

He had called Saruhiko many things in his life. A friend, his best friend, a traitor, a coward, an enemy. But now…? What was he supposed to call him? An acquaintance? He wasn’t sure he wanted to be Saruhiko’s acquaintance. Chasing strains on each other’s turf hadn’t made them colleagues either and they weren’t back to being partners, even though they had quickly pretended it during their fight against the JUNGLE brat. So, what now?

Saruhiko had avoided any form of proper talk since then and Misaki was lost, and at a loss for words and ideas. At least, now Saruhiko was stuck between him and the window, so he had no choice but to listen when Misaki talked:

“I meant it. I’m glad you’re the one going with me,” he said, feeling his cheeks heating up.

“Of course. I’m the only person you know who can speak English and is currently available.” Saruhiko wasn’t going to make it easy.

“You know I don’t mean _that_.” Yata rolled his eyes. The little lights in front of them changed color and Saruhiko frowned. He turned toward Yata and only answered:

“We’re taking off.” And _that_ was the end of the conversation.

 

The trip started with an eleven-hour flight to Detroit. Then a short stop for two hours, and they would land in Tampa three hours later. Saruhiko had pulled some paperwork out of his hand baggage along with his laptop and Yata had resigned himself, once the fear had gone, and retrieved his own handheld console.

The only consolation he had was that Saruhiko had silently let his hand rest on the armrest – palm facing upward and somehow inviting - between them until the moment the skater had uttered a vaguely amused “Alright, looks like we ain’t going to crash, right?” He wouldn’t even have noticed if the hand hadn’t disappeared in a flash at that precise moment.

It reminded him of the nights when Saruhiko tricked him into watching a horror movie and, then, out of guilt, would leave his hand held out for him to take during the rest of the night if he freaked out too much. A rueful smile had twisted his lips for a moment after Yata remembered that sweet time. It was stupid to think about something like that now. Things had changed. There was no way Saruhiko had tried to be nice to him there.

The game had kept him entertained for a couple of hours but then he had started wiggling restlessly on his seat and Saruhiko had pointed out that if he was going to disturb him during the whole flight, he’d land on earth a lot quicker than expected. Yata had glared back at him and tried to watch a movie, but it was a bad one, and he eventually fell asleep.

When he woke up they were landing over Detroit. The next two hours were blurry since he kept falling asleep and awakening in distress. They weren’t allowed to leave the plane and he only fully recovered when they took off again.

They were supposed to arrive at Tampa’s airport at 08.00PM. It felt strange, even with the couple of hours of sleep. They had left Tokyo in the middle of the afternoon, and despite a flight of fifteen hours, they were going to land at the end of the same afternoon.

“Don’t fry your brain trying to do some math, Misaki.” Saruhiko had his chin propped on his hand and he looked out of the window. Yata scowled. “Shut up!”

They didn’t talk for the last three hours either, and Yata’s chest began to feel hollow.

 

Fortunately, a cab was waiting for them at the airport once they retrieved their luggage. Munakata and Kusanagi had organized the whole trip, after all, and Saruhiko was supposed to handle the little things they would encounter on their daily routines. HOMRA’s vanguard could almost have felt safe. He did, sort of. But there was an odd weight on his chest when Saruhiko beckoned for him to follow him into the cab after arranging the last journey to their hotel.

Yata’s hand gripped the strap of his backpack harder, and he joined him at the back of the car, composing one of his bright smiles. He managed an easy “Hi,” one of the few words Saruhiko had hammered into his brain during their single, very short conversation during the flight, and put his seat belt on. The immediate surroundings of the airport were as ugly as Tokyo’s airport’s surroundings: tall concrete buildings and wide fields for the planes to land on.

“Are you here for business?” he heard the driver ask, but only understood the last word. At least he thought so. That’s why Yata said nothing when Saruhiko answered sharply and in perfect English: “No. Honeymoon. Not that it’s _your_ business.”

For some reason that escaped Yata, silence engulfed the interior of the cab for the rest of the journey.

 

 

 

**Chapter iii.**

Misaki had spent the short trip to the hotel looking out the window, his hazel eyes sparkling with interest, widening as he took in too many things at once. Saruhiko assimilated that expression with a child’s but he had always found it… touching somehow. At least, he did back then when they were teenagers. It was strange to acknowledge that despite all that time, all those changes, some things never changed.

When they arrived at the hotel, it wasn’t very late. The taxi driver helped them get their luggage at the speed of light and abandoned them as soon as Saruhiko handed him a couple of bills. There weren’t too many bags. Actually, Saruhiko only had a suitcase to add to the small gym bag he had taken as hand luggage. And Misaki had another suitcase, along with his backpack and a gym bag that held his skateboarding items.

The hotel was fancy. It wasn’t a five-star one, but it was obviously expensive and the big hall, decorated in an old-fashioned but tasteful way, indicated that they wouldn’t be sleeping in cheap sheets for the rest of the week.

Misaki stood back awkwardly, giving Saruhiko a little smile as he planted himself next to the suitcases, holding tightly to the backpack strap hanging from his left shoulder. He looked around him in awe and let Saruhiko deal with the receptionist.

There was only a man standing behind the huge mahogany desk. Like the rest of the wide hall, he was elegant, dressed in a neat black suit. Saruhiko dragged himself to the desk and cleared his throat when he reached it.

The man looked up with a polished smile. “Good evening, sir. May I help you?”

“Good evening. Yes. We have a reservation. Two rooms, the name is Yata,” Saruhiko answered, resisting the sudden urge to look back at the other who was probably still admiring the décor.

The receptionist nodded and looked down at the monitor hidden by the surface of the desk, typing a couple of words on the keyboard. Then some others. He repeated the act a few times, enough for Saruhiko to be bored to death and to start hammering his fingertips restlessly against the counter.

After a few minutes, the receptionist looked up at Saruhiko, then past him. Saruhiko imitated him and wasn’t surprised to meet the only other person present’s gaze: Misaki’s. “Excuse me, sir, are you sure you and your… You and this young man booked two rooms? Because I can’t find them.”

“Just my luck,” Saruhiko sighed in Japanese before pinching the bridge of his nose.

Misaki trailed towards them, dragging the suitcases along with him. “Is there a problem?” he asked, looking only at the dark haired man and not even bothering greeting the receptionist.

“No,” Saruhiko answered quickly before giving his attention back to the receptionist. “And yes, I’m sure we have a reservation at this hotel. Jet lag makes you tired, not stupid, or so I heard. Please, try again.”

The receptionist squinted and hunched in on himself before trying to smile, the most hypocritical smile Saruhiko had seen in weeks. And he worked with officials on a daily basis. “Oh but I do have a reservation,” the receptionist said, his fake smile growing into a constipated expression. “It’s written right there, Mister Yata.”

Saruhiko sucked in his breath and felt his blood running cold before his cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. Next to him, Misaki’s head snapped up at the mention of his name and he looked at Saruhiko to find out what was being said. “He’s not talking to you,” Saruhiko gritted out from between his teeth. “I think there’s a misunderstanding,” he added for the receptionist.

Then he fumbled into a pocket inside the coat he was wearing and drew out a sheet of paper on which a reservation for two rooms in that hotel was printed. Black on white. Before he could push it toward the receptionist, the latter looked at his monitor again, the printer vomiting a new sheet and said: “I have a suite booked under the name Yata. Our best suite, actually. Please accept the congratulations of the entire hotel staff and…”

_Don’t tell me—_

“Wait, wait!” Saruhiko’s mind hadn’t been as affected as his body by the long flight and the jet lag, and he was still perfectly able to catch onto things at a quicker pace than any average human. And the conclusions he drew from what he was hearing now were… Definitely tiresome. Troublesome. Fucked up.

“Saruhiko?”

The swordsman pushed the piece of paper with their reservation printed on it and tapped over a line with a finger. “Two rooms. Not a suite. I don’t congratulate you on your reading abilities.”

The receptionist squinted again and took a look at the paper. Saruhiko was already fishing out his PDA with the confirmation email when the receptionist cleared his throat. “I don’t understand.”

“Obviously,” Saruhiko said in Japanese again and Misaki, visibly fed up that he was pushed out of the conversation, elbowed him in the ribs.

“I’m sorry but…” The receptionist moved the monitor to allow Saruhiko to see by himself. That’s when the lanky clansman gripped the counter so hard his knuckles turned white. He let a disdainful gasp escape his mouth and looked back at the receptionist to see if he wasn’t trying to make fun of him. But the receptionist really seemed confused.

No wonder he had made so many innuendos earlier.

 **Honeymoon suite**.

The words blinked on the screen as if to mock Saruhiko. Another long suffering sigh tore from his mouth.

“Damnit, Saruhiko, what’s happening?” Misaki asked, clearly annoyed, and propelled himself on his toes to look at the screen.

“Nothing Misaki. They booked the wrong reservation,” Saruhiko snapped back, exasperated. “Why don’t you go somewhere else and sit or do whatever you want and let me deal with the situation, for—“

“Oi! Don’t talk to me like that!” Misaki immediately flared up, his hands balling into fists. “Just because you’re tired doesn’t mean you have to be an ass! Asshole!”

“Tch! Whatever!” Saruhiko’s patience was growing thinner. He turned back towards the receptionist and flashed him a glare that clearly dared him to say something as stupid as trouble in paradise or some other shit.

The receptionist knew better, though, and quickly returned to the safety of his monitor, typing on his keyboard at a faster pace than before. He seemed to want to end this conversation as much as they did. Good.

When he glanced back at Saruhiko, though, the blue clansman guessed he had no good news to deliver. “I’m sorry. We’re fully booked.”

“Of course. Because now that you’ve announced to me that we have to share the same room, you’ll tell me there’s no other room available at the moment, but please, please accept our deepest apologizes and don’t worry about the room service, it’s on the house,”

Saruhiko really was tired and fed up to be acting like that. But since he couldn’t draw a knife here and threaten the receptionist in his usual fashion, he had to let some steam out and he couldn’t help the rant. The thing is… Saruhiko was internally starting to feel a panic rising, and he couldn’t exactly pinpoint why but that didn’t help him to keep his calm. “Who d’you think I am? The main character of one of your shitty romantic comedies? Because I’m not, and I won’t just leave it because you handed me a couple of coupons to access your casino or to have dinner in a cheap restaurant with my beloved one.”

The receptionist wouldn’t have looked different if the swordsman had slapped him across the face. “Now fucking find another room already, please.”

“Sir, I’ll have to ask you to—“ the receptionist started, but he didn’t seem to know how to continue, visibly impressed and frightened by the gloomy figure hovering above him. “I really can’t do anything at the moment. Please come back in the morning and we’ll find a solution. For now, I really do have to ask you to accept our deepest apologizes for the trouble and…”

The man squirmed uncomfortably, averting his gaze nervously. “Please, make yourself comfortable and don’t worry about the room service for the rest of the week – it’s…”

Saruhiko slammed a hand on the desk and turned away from the receptionist for a moment. Misaki hadn’t obeyed, - of course, why would he? - and was standing behind him, looking back at his ex-best friend with huge eyes, gaping. “Saruhiko, what the fuck was that?” he gasped, his cheeks showing a faint blush as his hazel eyes shifted toward the receptionist with embarrassment.

“Congratulations, Misaki. We got married during our trip somehow.”

“Wha—“ Misaki’s eyes widened in a way that would have been comical if Saruhiko was in the mood but since right now he wanted to kill someone, that didn’t even make him smile.

“These morons messed up the reservation, they put us in the…” Fuck he couldn’t believe he was about to say it. If they had been 14, they’d have been laughing their asses off in 3… 2… 1… “Honeymoon suite. One room, one b—“

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Misaki exploded, dropping his gym bag on the floor without realizing it.

Saruhiko turned once again toward the receptionist, who really seemed to wish he hadn’t been on shift that night. The slender clansman raised a thumb and indicated the young man gaping and gasping and swearing behind him to the receptionist. “See? He’s pretty much summing it up. Now give me the goddam key and you’d better find a solution for tomorrow because… Let’s just say he will be even livelier than he already is after a fifteen-hour long trip. And you don’t want that. And you don’t want me to endure that.”

The receptionist nodded nervously, looking at the two weirdos with a dreadful expression, but Saruhiko knew he was more afraid of him than he was annoyed by the obnoxious reaction coming from the redhead.

“The Honeymoon suite is on the top floor,” he almost whimpered.

“Oh, let me guess,” Saruhiko couldn’t help but be even more resentful when he snatched the key pass from the receptionist. “Me and my loving wife will be delighted to enjoy the breathtaking view of Tampa! How romantic!”

There was no answer. Saruhiko almost regretted it - he still needed to blow off some steam for some reason, and he would’ve liked to delay the moment they’d have to go to their shared room. But it seemed that there was nothing to be added. Glaring one last time at the receptionist to make a point, Saruhiko turned on his heels and retrieved his suitcase and gym bag.

“It has to wait until tomorrow. Either you tag along or you sleep in the lobby,” he snapped, not looking directly at Misaki.

“I can’t believe it. There was nothing you could do?” Misaki was looking hopelessly in the direction of the mahogany desk, behind which the receptionist now pretended to be very busy. He sounded desperate or freaked out and it made Saruhiko’s insides twist in the most unpleasant way. It seemed like there would be no butterflies in his stomach for that first honeymoon night.

“Are you coming or will you sleep in the lobby?” he repeated, pushing away the despicable sensation.

“Coming,” Misaki mumbled half-heartedly and bent to retrieve his luggage. Saruhiko was already heading for the elevators when he did. He tried not to listen to his heartbeat too carefully as the redhead joined him, because it had started hammering against his ribcage pathetically. He had no idea what was wrong with him. It wasn’t that much of a big deal - he should be able to master his emotions. He did, he was… Or so he thought, but in the end, it was a fucked up situation.

 

 

 

**Chapter iv.**

Yata’s palms were sweating. That wasn’t why he had balled them into fists in the first place but he definitely kept them like that for that reason.

He couldn’t say he was feeling very well at the moment. He could get over the fact that the hotel staff thought they were a married couple. It was stupid, and if he thought too much about it, it made his head spin a little, but really, if it had been another person, it could have been funny? But he definitely had a harder time getting over the fact that they’d have to share a room.

Of course he hoped that the trip abroad, just the two of them, would be his chance to talk to Saruhiko and make things move on a bit. He knew they’d spend a lot of time together. But he also knew if he wanted this to work, they would both need space. It was the tacit balance required for this to work. To begin with, Saruhiko had a lot of issues, and those that included personal space and lack of trust were huge. Considering their past and current situation, Saruhiko _needed_ that space. But then, Yata wasn’t very confident either. He didn’t really know for sure what was to come. He dreaded the possibility that Saruhiko had grown into a man he wouldn’t be able to understand, or to reach, however hard he tried. Usually he tried to brush that thought away, as the hopelessly idealistic and trustful person he was. He was honest, and loyal and wore his heart on his sleeve… And he knew his past self, the blinded and unfair one, the one too immature to understand Saruhiko… He knew that despite the person he had been back then, and all the misunderstandings that had led to that awful situation, despite the fact that Saruhiko was too secretive at the time… He knew he had changed = he had understood things, learnt others. And he wanted more, because he knew deep down that he and Saruhiko still had to talk and were yet to reconcile.

He remembered, and could never forget – and god knew how hard he had tried over the past years – how it felt to look at Saruhiko and shiver from excitement. He remembered how they used to be one, how they were just meant to be… But to be _what_ \- that was the endless question he asked himself over and over now. It was still there, whatever it was, and he refused to think that they had to part ways for good after all that had happened between them. But he needed some space to think too, because it was too much to handle for him. And because this week was also important to him on another level.

How bitter it felt to remember a time when Yata found safety in crawling into the dark-haired young man’s bed, curling next to him and sleeping only once he was appeased thanks to that contact. Now it was the opposite. For the first time in years, they risked having to share a bed and it was the most stressful thing the redhead could remember had happened since that night when he had thought Gojou Sukuna was about to kill Saruhiko.

The door of the lift opened abruptly when they reached the last floor. His short time trapped in his own head with his messy thoughts came to an end with that, but the stress and the apprehension remained.

He didn’t wait for Saruhiko to make a comment and moved out of the little cage in some kind of hurry. The Honeymoon suite room was there, near the end of that corridor. Saruhiko drew the key out of his pocket and didn’t look at Yata for a second. Making eye contact would have been too awkward anyway. Yata was sure Saruhiko was totally pissed off by the situation. Maybe even more than pissed off, he thought, remembering how the dark-haired man had lost his temper in the hotel lobby.

The soft _click_ indicating that the door was unlocked resounded in Yata’s ears as loudly as a Damocles Sword crashing on the ground. Then it was pushed open and Saruhiko disappeared inside with his own bags. Fine. They could both do it. It was no big deal, no…

“Holy shit!” Yata let out the moment he dragged his feet into the room.

“I married a poet, lucky me,” Saruhiko bit back instantly and dryly.

“Fuck you! Look at this!” the redhead countered immediately, gesturing at the space before him.

“I can see, Misaki. Thank you!”

“There’s only one bed!”

Saruhiko didn’t take the news well, visibly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a few seconds before glaring viciously at his former friend. Yata ignored that. Before him, several meters away, sat a gigantic bed, draped with curtains and covered in pillows and blankets and… _Fuck this!_ It was the perfect scenery for a cheesy movie! The bed was turned toward the big window bay, directly on the sea and…

"Of course there's only one bed. If you hadn't guessed yet, we've taken the 'Cliché' option. It was that or unlimited access to porn channels."

That made Yata stop his contemplating and drop his bag to slap his own face in mortification. He wasn’t a little kid anymore but he was still the same guy. Talking to a girl made him blush, seeing an ad with a woman in her underwear made him fall over, so… a porn, really? The truth was, he had never even watched one for real. He had been mocked and forced to see parts of some because of his shitty friends in the past but really… He would never order that kind of service. He’d die of shame even before asking the hotel, actually.

“You’re not fucking helping!” he blurted out, uncovering his face to glare back.

Saruhiko snorted and turned his back to him, retrieving his luggage to carry it toward the right corner of the room.

This place was crazy. It was a wonderful suite, with the bedroom part at the opposite corner of the entrance. On their right was a comfortable and artful little space arranged so it looked like a living room. There was a jet black couch made of expensive leather, two very stylish armchairs, and a coffee table made of glass and iron.

There weren’t a lot of decorations, but big vases with beautiful and fresh flowers ornamented the place too. The farthest door on their left probably led to the bathroom and toilets because the first one, the one Yata had opened, was a big dressing room. It was so wide that he doubted anyone coming here would ever bring enough clothes to fill it. But that wasn’t important. He spun around instead, his amber eyes sliding nervously over the bed, when he saw it and…

“Holy fucking shit!” This time it didn’t hold any negativity.

Yata’s eyes widened painfully and he circled the bed at the speed of light. “Saru, oh my f—“

“Is it really too hard for you to make one sentence without swearing?” Saruhiko cut him off. But the redhead’s reaction had caught his interest, probably, because the next second, he was behind him and looking past the bed too, towards the bay. “Tsk! Wonderful! I’ll call room service for Champagne just after I thank the Captain for that!”

“Really?” Yata couldn’t help but breathe out, amazed.

“Of course not, idiot!” Saruhiko sighed more heavily than necessary and disappeared from Yata’s vital space, leaving him alone in his contemplation of the _hot tub_ that stood proudly before him. _That place is so fancy!_ He could never have even dreamt about affording it.

Saruhiko’s heels on the floor as he returned to his bags reminded Yata of the fatal reality, though. No matter how awesome this room was, the person he had to share it with made every single awesome detail a waste.

Again, he thought about their 14-year-old selves… They’d have been so excited about a place like this! They were always looking for a lair to build their future! Like a secret awesome place just for the two of them. “Maaaan, it sucks,” he heard himself say as he turned back around.

Saruhiko didn’t notice, or didn’t think it was worth a reply. “I’m gonna take a shower,” Yata sighed, gesturing at the only unexplored door left.

“Suit yourself.” Again with that dry tone…

Yata wished he could have said something, but he resigned himself and left.

 

The bathroom was as fancy as the rest of the suite. It was entirely made of anthracite marble and glass. Yata used the walk-in shower in a corner, eyeing the big bathtub a couple of times, and wrapped himself in two of the spare fluffy white towels that waited for him on the shelves.

He hadn’t brought any clean clothes with him in the bathroom and didn’t feel like putting on the ones he had made the trip in. Really. Not now that he smelled like vanilla and his skin felt so smooth. That fucking shower was probably magical too.

Trying not to think about Saruhiko waiting in the other room, he cleared his throat by reflex and wrapped a towel around his waist, the other around his neck. It was fine. It was Saruhiko. They knew each other. They had done this a million times before. And even now that they weren’t friends anymore, they were both men and adults. _Just act cool!_

It wasn’t complicated, right? He needed to grab some sweatpants and a t-shirt and that was… “The fuck are you doing?” Yata exclaimed when he got out of the room.

He froze in the doorway, looking at Saruhiko who was unpacking his laptop to put it on the coffee table. But that wasn’t what bugged him. What bugged Yata was what was behind Saruhiko.

On the couch.

Saruhiko didn’t look up and gave his laptop that lazy unfazed look. “You know… We’re not really married. I don’t have to keep you up-dated about my comings and goings,” the swordsman drawled.

Yata’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. Saruhiko was sitting on the couch now, but not exactly on the black leather. He sat on a folded blanket taken from the bed, and next to him was a pillow…

The skater ignored his previous witty remark and stepped nervously toward the coffee table that separated them. “I don’t—You don’t plan on sleeping on that couch, right?” he asked, his voice a little raspy.

Saruhiko looked up from his laptop for the first time since Yata had come back. And then immediately dropped his gaze. “I see you’re already feeling at home,” the taller one muttered grudgingly.

“Wh—Saruhiko, seriously, what the hell is going on?”

There was no way Saruhiko planned to sleep on that couch when they had a king-sized bed! It was fucking leather, hard and cold. He’d sleep so badly on that! It was meant to sit on, not even to take a nap! Fancy furniture was never that comfortable. And ok, Saruhiko might have a shitty sleeping habit and schedule and everything but… It wouldn’t kill him to share a bed with Yata, right? It was beyond offensive and…

“What do you mean, _what the hell is going on_? I’m sending e-mails. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I’m on a vacation.”

“Don’t play dense with me, Saru! I’m talking about you and the couch!” Yata answered a bit fiercely.

“What about us? Are you against this? Me and the couch? Damn, it’s breaking the couch’s heart!” Saruhiko still refused to make eye contact but was clearly comfortable with being a jerk. As usual.

“Shut up! You’re not sleeping on the couch Saruhiko! You’ll have the worst night of…”

“I slept on the floor under a trashy kotatsu when we were teenagers, and it didn’t kill me,” Saruhiko answered in his turn, now growing tired of the argument. “You should have the bed - there’s no question of that!”

“We can have both the bed!” Yata exclaimed, not believing his ears. “It won’t kill you, you fussy bastard!”

“I don’t need it! _You_ do!” Saruhiko jumped to his feet this time, glaring daggers in the redhead’s direction, his hand pointing at the bed.

“Don’t give me that crap! That bed is huge enough!”

“I won’t sleep in it! You need to rest properly, idiot! You have a skateboarding competition! I don’t want you to lose because you were a stubborn idiot and wanted to…”

“OH MY GOD, YOU’RE AN EVEN BIGGER PRICK THAN I THOUGHT!” This time the smaller one shouted, vexed and angry. “So it’d kill you to share a bed with me? How mature, Saruhiko! Nice one!”

There was a long silence after that. Saruhiko mostly managed to not look like he had been slapped across the face, but he didn’t succeed fully. Not with Yata.

“You know what? Take the couch, I’ll take the bed - we’ll take turn during the week and that’s the end of the conversation. I don’t want to hear any more about this! Didn’t think you’d actually—you would… _tch_!”

There was a weight on Yata’s stomach; it hurt and made him terribly uncomfortable, but what was worse was the lump in his throat when he turned away and grabbed one of his bags, intending to return to the bathroom.

He had just yanked the door open when Saruhiko’s voice sounded behind him. It was void, oddly foreign and low… “Misaki. Can’t you just…?”

“Conversation over, Saruhiko! I’m way too old to force veggies on you and tuck you in bed with lullabies.”

The next second, Yata slammed the wooden panel behind him and was left alone in the bathroom. It was a catastrophe. Maybe beyond that. And it was painful too… Maybe they were too different - maybe the venom that had flown between them through those years was too thick to be washed away… Maybe there was no hope for a real reconciliation.

If he had been twelve again, maybe he’d have sobbed when he dropped on the floor, bringing his knees to his chest with a heavy sigh and his lips trembling.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter v.**

If they had started this like a romantic movie with a bad scenario… That night had been worse! Saruhiko had spent almost the entire night looking blankly at the ceiling with a frown on his face. Sometimes he had to refrain from face-palming, refusing to give in to such an impulse. But fucking hell, what had happened last night?

After the argument, Misaki had stormed into the bathroom, changed, and then vacated it for Saruhiko to use. By the time he’d finished and was back in the room, everything was dark and Misaki was nowhere to be seen. The only thing that had changed was the curtain that was now hiding the bed and, supposedly, the skater.

What was wrong with him anyway? Couldn’t he figure it out by himself? That it wasn’t the easiest thing on earth to suddenly sleep in the same bed again? And why did he care? It wasn’t like Saruhiko was forced to sleep on the hard floor either! Really, it pissed him off more than he’d thought it would.

And when he had closed his laptop and fell back on the (ok, maybe slightly uncomfortable) couch, all Saruhiko could hear was the slow and heavy breathing coming from the other side of the room. And the following hours had been terrible. Saruhiko, alone with his own thoughts, restless and unable to sleep, and Misaki’s respiration…

It felt so odd that sometimes Saruhiko had squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block the sound out. He slept alone now, and had been for years. And the first person he had to share a bedroom with was _him_. That respiration had haunted him. Misaki had no idea… Couldn’t possibly know. All those nights that Saruhiko had slept on the top bunker in his new dorm, imagining that respiration. All the mornings he thought he heard it too and…

“Snap out of it, Saruhiko - the receptionist is here,” Misaki told him, a bit stiffly and without looking at him.

Right. Now they weren’t in the suite anymore, and Misaki was still angry. It was 9AM and they were both dressed and ready for the day. And the first thing they needed to do was talk with the receptionist. Saruhiko was just spacing out because of reasons. Not at all because he lacked sleep so much and thought about things that were potential anxiety material.

“Sir?” a young lady with a long red ponytail and adorable freckles called him.

She wore the same uniform as her colleague from yesterday and seemed really nice. She looked awfully young too. And it seemed like she was interested in Misaki, because despite the fact that she had addressed Saruhiko, she looked past him and directly at the redhead.

Saruhiko cleared his throat, glaring at her in an unfriendly way without really noticing. Once he got her attention, he leaned against the counter. In less than thirty seconds, he had explained the problem again,

“Oh I see!” she said while checking on her monitor, and then she looked up, from him to Misaki, without hiding her curiosity. “So you two aren’t…”

Saruhiko’s glare shut her up abruptly.

“Yes, I see, er… I’m sorry! The only solution is to wait another day. We’ll have another room available Wednesday, tomorrow. You can stop by the desk around 11AM tomorrow to get the key,” she said, obviously dreading Saruhiko’s wrath.

Except he just sighed. Then he craned his sore neck and cracked his knuckles painfully. That night had been shitty – though he wouldn’t admit it – and this wasn’t getting any better. “Of course. It’s too much to ask.”

There was no discussing it either. The situation was hopeless anyway, but at least by tomorrow it’d be a little easier to breathe. Without thanking her, he returned to where Misaki was waiting, his backpack hanging from one shoulder.

Saruhiko stopped at a meter or so away and looked him over from head to toe. He wore his usual cargo shorts - gray ones - and a black and red t-shirt, matching his beanie. He dressed the same way he always had, like when they were teens. “Why are you looking at me like that?” the skater eventually asked, sounding defensive.

“That girl seems to like high schoolers,” Saruhiko snapped, pointing at the reception desk.

“High sch—That girl, you mean…”

“She’s cross-eyed. And probably never heard of a toothbrush,” Saruhiko continued, on an impulse that surprised him. What was wrong with him?

Misaki just gave him a weird, suspicious look, then walked toward the main doors. “So… About the room…?”

“We’ll have another one tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. I guess it’s fine?” the skater said thoughtfully. Saruhiko shrugged. They were in the street now and unlike the night before, it was buzzing with people and cars. Perfect…

“So… What do we do now? Where d’you want to go?”

That genuine question took the swordsman aback. He blinked and looked at the other as if to make sure he wasn’t joking. On the contrary, Misaki looked very serious. Challenging, even. As if he dared Saruhiko to say something.

“What are you going on about? Want to go and visit the city?” Saruhiko asked suspiciously. “With me?”

“Eh… I thought about locking you in the room for the whole week but the cleaning lady doesn’t deserve to find a grumpy jerk face that…”

“I got it,” Saruhiko stopped him dangerously. “Seriously, this is stupid…” he then muttered, throwing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. _Misaki and I going on a touristic trip - what a joke._

At that, Misaki growled and rolled his eyes. “Fu—ok! You have a better idea? Seriously Saruhiko! This ain’t gonna work! I don’t want to fight with you all the time, ok? But we’re here now and for a whole week. Either tag along or hide in the room if you want to, but this is stupid!”

“You’re saying that like it’s my fault,” Saruhiko drawled, his patience growing thin. “Like it’s easy! You want to play house again, that’s what it is. We’re not _friends_ , Misaki. It’s not like…”

“ _Before_! I know! I fucking know that!”

By now, people started to slow their pace around them, giving them curious looks, but Saruhiko couldn’t care less. He only saw Misaki, standing proudly in front of him, with anger and desperation burning in his hazel eyes.

“We’re not _friends_ but I thought we made clear we weren’t enemies either, right? We have to work on this - it’s not going to solve itself like… fuck, it’s like it was easier to speak when a bunch of freaks were on the verge of killing us! It’s always the same with you; it’s never easy, is it? But what we said… it was real, it meant something. Let me try, Saruhiko. Let us try!”

This time, the swordsman found himself at a loss for words. His ears were buzzing loudly enough to cover the traffic and his heart thumped so fiercely he could feel it in his throat. Only Misaki could elicit that kind of reaction from him, and no matter how much time had passed, he’d never get used to it.

“I’m not asking for the impossible. I’m not asking for us to be like we were before, certainly not right now… But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to get along. Saruhiko, I know we can. We’ve changed - that’s the only thing I’m sure of. We’re not the same anymore, and it’s a _good_ thing. Let’s work with that. I know it’s a big change! It’s not like meeting in the park for five minutes and just making plans about hanging out. It’s real. We’re fucking stuck in another country for six days, in the same room. It’s not easy for me either, y’know! But if we try, I don’t see why—“

“Enough.” Saruhiko congratulated himself internally for not sounding husky or anything because… because it had been a thing, and he was sure, judging from the way his stomach had crushed into a death-strong grip and his heartbeat had gone wild, that he couldn’t take any of this anymore. “Alright, enough. I heard you,” he said again. He wasn’t even dry or mean… He was genuinely asking Misaki to shut up because he couldn’t take that raw honesty without stumbling back.

“I just want to…”

“Misaki. I heard what you said. I—Surprisingly, you made sense. That’s a shock,” he couldn’t help but add, before he cringed internally. The amber eyes read “ _prick_ ” clearly. Saruhiko cleared his throat. “I’ll try to make an effort too, is all I’m saying. You’re right, we can try this. Whatever it is.”

There was a disturbing silence before the redhead opened his mouth again… And his own stomach interrupted him, growling loudly. Saruhiko looked at it as Misaki covered it with his hands, then up, at the skater’s face. And here it was… The slow twist on those lips he knew so well, the lips that had praised him so long, then cursed him… into a sheepish grin that was so Misaki-like. “Poetic,” Saruhiko huffed, his own lips weirdly moving on their own as if to form a smirk.

“Guess I’m hungry. Wanna grab breakfast somewhere?”

“I have no choice. If I leave it to you, you’ll starve to death before you can actually make someone understand you.” Massaging his sore neck again, Saruhiko just gave Misaki a non-committal shrug. He got laughed at.

“Riiiight. That’s another level of prick. I guess I can see an improvement, though.”

“Tsk, shut up,” Saruhiko drawled, the half smirk still tearing at his lips.

“Oh come on, Saruhiko! How rude are you? Language!”

 

How they ended on a bench in a public park eating crepes was beyond him – it was probably the weirdest thing that had happened yet. They were silent again, eating next to each other, runners roaming the place and old ladies walking their dogs near them.

It didn’t have the same taste as the crepes they used to eat on summer days, walking home from school when they were kids. It was different. The air here wasn’t thick and wet either, even if the sun started to shine brightly and it slowly burned their skin. It really wasn’t the same.

It still felt good enough to Saruhiko. And seeing how Misaki devoured his own, the redhead enjoyed it a lot.

When Saruhiko was done with his, he actually turned toward the other, who was licking at his fingers with a sated smile on his face. His neck was stiff and he couldn’t help but wince - as subtly as he could manage. Misaki still saw it, though, because he suddenly tilted his head and frowned. “What is it?”

“What?”

“You’re hurt or something?” the redhead insisted, a knee on the bench now, and invading Saruhiko’s personal space. “Your neck hurts?”

“No,” the swordsman lied.

“Of course it hurts. Because you slept on this couch and…”

“I thought that conversation was over,” Saruhiko said stiffly.

For a moment they just exchanged a threatening look. This wasn’t peace yet, they both knew it. Then the redhead broke it, without a smile. “You know what?”

“What?”

“Let’s go visit a museum or some shit.”

Saruhiko snorted, holding the burning gaze on him. “A museum? _You_ want to visit a museum?”

“No, but either we find something to do or I’ll break your neck so you have a reason to whine.”

Saruhiko couldn’t help but grin mischievously. It smelled both like a battlefield and home. That mix was odd. The bitter pain was fading, though. It felt better, like Misaki’s proud little grin.

“Time to educate yourself, Misaki.”

 

 

 

**Chapter vi.**

“You know sleeping on a hard couch is precisely what causes wry-neck. Just sayin’,” Yata said, his fork digging in his plate of pasta carbonara.

“You don’t use _just sayin’_ when you’ve already said that thing thirty times today,” Saruhiko commented, pushing away a lethal onion ring.

“It’s still true the thirty-first time, though,” Yata grumbled before gulping down a mouthful of his dish. It was excellent.

They were at the hotel restaurant, and they were both spent after a long day. They hadn’t visited a museum in the end, because it wasn’t their thing, but they’d visited the _Bok Tower Gardens_ and it had taken hours. It was wonderful, so beautiful! Yata had liked it, and Saruhiko seemed like he could survive in a pretty place too.

Though when the temperature had been too high, they’d sought a cooler place and ended up in a game center in the mall for an hour. There they had played a lot, without getting into any argument. But it wasn’t like they’d gotten into a real conversation either. They avoided all deep-meaning subjects, so of course they didn’t bicker too much, but it wasn’t a perfect solution.

But it was a good start. Yata thought so, anyway.

They didn’t spend too much time in the restaurant either. They were both very tired with the trip from the previous day, the lack of sleep the following night, and then the long day in Tampa - and if Yata had to be honest, all he wanted now was to take a shower and crash on the bed.

Except he was supposed to sleep on the couch. But that wasn’t happening either, oh no!

He had a plan, and he’d stick to it! Neither he nor Saruhiko would ever sleep on that couch again. The redhead was determined to fight if he had to.

“I’m taking a shower,” Yata announced as soon as they entered the suite. It still felt strange to come back here and to know that it was their room. Common, shared room.

Saruhiko let him and waited for his turn. He took back the sweatpants and t-shirt he had slept in before and disappeared.

Saruhiko was behind his computer, sending e-mails again or whatever work he had to do, when Yata reappeared. They didn’t exchange a word before the taller one actually finished typing something. For whatever reason, that made the redhead a little too self-conscious, standing there and watching him. He looked focused on his task, and his fingers moved so quickly over the keys, barely eliciting a noise… The sight had something to it that made Yata’s heart clench. There was a taste of nostalgia on the tip of his tongue too…

“Be right back,” Saruhiko closed the laptop abruptly and got up.

“Yeah.” Yata nodded before striding to the window bay. Behind him, Saruhiko locked himself in the bathroom and the redhead exhaled a kind of shuddering sigh.

There he stopped and looked at the city and sea before him. It was incredible, that sight. It was past 9PM, so the sun would be completely down soon, and it was casting a bloody light on the landscape. It was beautiful and mesmerizing… But Yata had other things to do.

When he heard the water running in the bathroom, he actually ran to the couch and stripped the blanket and pillow from it, throwing them back on the bed. Then he dragged Saruhiko’s luggage toward the dressing room, with his own. The next thing he did was take the laptop and place it, along with Saruhiko’s PDA, on one of the bedside tables. Another couple of minutes later and the swordsman was back.

His hair was damp and falling in his eyes, unprotected by the glasses he wasn’t wearing at the moment. Unlike Yata the previous night, he had taken some clean clothes with him and was now wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that Yata immediately recognized with a sting in his heart. It was deep purple, almost blue, and Saruhiko had owned it since they had moved in together. Yata couldn’t believe he still had and wore it… It felt odd to see that grown-up man wearing it rather than the ghost of his former best friend.

“You’re staring,” Saruhiko commented.

“You should dry your hair or you will—“ Yata interrupted himself before he could end this sentence.

If he started patronizing that fussy idiot too much, Saruhiko wasn’t going to make things easy for him. He needed to be subtle, to drive the situation where he wanted it, with some… “You think because you took the blanket away, I’m not going to sleep on the couch?” the cold voice drawled next to him.

 _Shit._ “Yeah, maybe that’s exactly what I think, jerk face,” he groaned back.

“Ridiculous.”

“I’m being fucking serious, Saruhiko. You spent the day with a sore neck - you were in pain. And that’s just because you’re an idiot. At least sleep in the bed tonight - that was the deal!”

“No. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. Misaki, how many times do I have to tell you? You can’t afford to be in bad shape for your competition!” Saruhiko exclaimed, exasperated and… surprisingly ashamed? “I don’t want you to be the one hurting.”

That took the air away from the redhead’s lungs in one go. It was pure caring. Nothing less, nothing more. Genuine care. He could see it, feel it, as he stared back at his former friend in shock.

“Then please, share the bed with me,” Yata eventually said with a gentle voice. “It’s only for one night. It won’t hurt anyone.”

Saruhiko still stood away from him, near the bathroom entrance, and looked defiant and – if not scared – at least uneasy. _Come on_. Yata’s hands balled into fists. His amber eyes reflected the intensity of his determination. It was just another step to take. _We can do this_.

“Fine.”

It was close, but Yata refrained from jumping and brandishing a fist in the air while yelling a childish “ _yeeeeessss_ ”. He still glowed, he knew it, when he launched himself onto the gigantic bed and bounced on the comfortable mattress.

Before him, the sun was setting. It actually was one of the most amazing things he’d ever seen… And the fact that Saruhiko had just given in and agreed to spend the night somewhere other than on that awful couch may have made it even more beautiful.

“Saruhiko, come on, you need to see this!”

It was several seconds before Saruhiko actually moved out of his field of vision, and then he reappeared and dropped on the other edge of the bed tentatively.

It was impulsive and clumsy. Yata had no idea why he did it … Yet he suddenly bent toward the swordsman and yanked him by the elbow, dragging him plainly on the bed next to him and making him shift so Saruhiko faced the bay too.

The dark haired man was so surprised he didn’t fight back, his eyes only widening comically. Ok, it had been rough and unplanned and … almost intimate, but Yata had no time to waste on blushing. “Seriously what—“

“Wait!” Yata pushed away the awkward feeling and the shame. He jumped off of the bed and ran toward the bathroom. Saruhiko’s glasses were there, displayed near the sink. The young man grabbed them and returned to the bed at the speed of light. There, he pushed them onto Saruhiko’s nose and dropped next to him, nearly panting but stupidly overjoyed.

It was the simplest thing. But it was spectacular and beautiful. And they shared it.

“It’s red.” Saruhiko broke the silence with that little remark. It was a murmur, not even an attack.

Still, Yata’s heart stopped beating like crazy and was suddenly torn. _No, no_ …

“But I guess it’s fine,” Saruhiko muttered then.

It was still hard to breathe, to move…

Saruhiko brought his knees against his chest, his chin propped on them as he turned his head slightly to glance at Yata with an unreadable look. “It really is fine. Misaki.”

Never in his life had Yata ever wanted to take someone’s hand so hard and hold it, squeeze it even. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat, and nervous laughter bubbled in its place as he shifted again to avoid Saruhiko’s piercing eyes. It hurt, and it felt good. There was the relief and the ruefulness. He had felt it coming but it still took his breath away. It was such a complicated journey, the one that brought you home, but he was willing to try anyway.

 

 

**Chapter vii.**

When Saruhiko woke up, it was still pitch black in the room. The other bay was slightly open on the charming balcony at the back of the suite, a little breeze lightening the thick, hot air of the night. And still, Saruhiko found himself unable to breathe.

Misaki was there, flopped on his stomach, just a few inches away, sleeping heavily and quietly on the pillow next to him. With his eyes adjusting to the dark and assisted by the city lights, the swordsman could make out his silhouette, the contour of his face. Misaki’s left hand rested near his face, close to Saruhiko as well, balled into a loose fist, and his lips were just parted enough to allow him to breathe deeply. He hadn’t changed, then.

Suddenly, Saruhiko felt the urge to get away, to get some air. He’d stared too long at the peaceful and familiar face. It felt insane to be there.

Carefully, he slid off the bed and made his way to the bathroom to fill a glass of water, then he returned to the balcony. His throat felt dry, his skin prickled. Saruhiko welcomed the breeze on his face and looked at the city. It was probably 2 or 3 in the morning… They had talked for a long time after the sunset, and then they had fallen asleep awkwardly.

The dark haired man looked behind him – Misaki shifted in his sleep, rolling on his back and hiding his face unconsciously in the crook of his elbow. Saruhiko looked at the arm and his stomach churned with nervousness. There was a scar on that upper arm. One he had made, just like the one resting on his own collarbone.

 _Stop that._ It was so unnecessary. And still, there were things bloodier than the sunset in their past. A dark alleyway, injuries, curses, blows aimed to hurt, others that had nearly killed one or the other… There was a lot of destruction in that past, just like that guy had foreseen. Destruction and fire.

Mechanically, Saruhiko’s hand went to his hip, where his sword usually rested. _There’s not only destruction or fire. There hasn’t only been that_.

There were smiles too - silly dreams, perspectives, people he had learned to rely on if only just a bit, faith. Misaki had been there too. He hadn’t always been on the wrong side of Saruhiko’s story. He had just been where Saruhiko had wanted to place him, keeping him in that chaotic spiral for reasons that had made sense back then. But now… Maybe Misaki was right.

There wasn’t any more fire to burn him, and still, Misaki was that same warm and fierce person he had met. It just didn’t seem to harm any more. Not from his new perspective.

They could try, at least. Turn the pages without destroying them, without burning them. Even if, for once, getting rid of it all felt like the right thing to do. Saruhiko remembered all these times when Misaki’s hazel eyes rested on him, full of raging emotions, pupils blown wide and a fire dancing in them… No, he didn’t want this to disappear either. In the end, he had never wanted to erase Misaki from his life. For the best as well as the worst… And the worst was behind them for sure. Maybe it was the time for him to allow the best to come.

Slowly, he pushed back the window before pacing back to the bed. It would’ve been easy to turn away and finish his night on the couch. But it felt stupid and useless. Eventually, Saruhiko circled the bed and climbed back on it. He did his best not to make a noise and to be as light as he could, but Misaki seemed to feel something, because he turned again in his sleep, back on his stomach just as Saruhiko lay down next to him.

“’atch your neck,” he mumbled in his sleep, half yawning, half clicking his tongue.

Saruhiko’s mouth turned up in a little smile that vanished pretty quickly when Misaki’s hand ventured between them again and found Saruhiko’s wrist. Calloused fingers instantly curled around it and gave a little squeeze. “’t’s okay now.” Then the pressure disappeared and Misaki’s hand rested loosely next to Saruhiko’s.

He’d need another ten minutes before he could breathe evenly again. It was so like Misaki…

 

It was also like Misaki to wake up thinking he was being discreet when in fact he was… “So louuuud, Misaki,” Saruhiko growled, shoving his head into the pillow with desperation.

“Sorry,” the redhead answered sheepishly. He had been showering and was now dressed fully and ready to start the day. Which wasn’t a surprise. Saruhiko wasn’t a heavy sleeper - _that_ was Misaki. Saruhiko slept very little while Misaki slept quietly and deeply through the nights. But once the dark-haired man got in bed, his body totally took its sweet revenge and he hated to admit it but getting up on days off was a torture. No one knew that about him, even though Misaki probably suspected it, but Saruhiko hated mornings. Of course he didn’t stay too long in bed, but he was a lazy ass nonetheless and preferred his days to start with a strong black coffee cup or nothing.

“Hurry and take a shower, I ordered breakfast already,” the other went on a bit too cheerfully to his liking.

“Ordered?”

“Yeah… They said we wouldn’t have to pay, right? So room service it is! And don’t worry, I remember your delicate habits, you fussy—“

“Shut up,” Saruhiko drawled, but he was up now, and had been pretty casual. Misaki grinned at his back and the swordsman locked himself up in the bathroom.

In the time it took him to finish, get out and fully dress himself, the breakfast was, indeed, already in the room. Misaki was spreading the different dishes on the table. The sight reminded Saruhiko of the times when Misaki would prepare breakfast for him in the morning, the smell of the food invading their tiny apartment and tickling his nose and… _That’s irrelevant._

The air smelled like coffee and pastries. It was probably the continental breakfast every hotel had on their menu, but it was good enough. And the quality was there.

He was just sitting on the couch when the redhead forced a cup of coffee into his hands. He was less cheerful, at least, as if now that they were both fully awake they had realized not everything had been sorted out over the night. But the atmosphere still felt way less thick than before.

“I think I’ll go to the stadium and check out the park today. I want to see the course and the installations… Maybe try them if it’s allowed, so I can have a better view of the whole thing before the day of the competition,” Misaki explained, after some time. He sounded a bit on edge. Saruhiko realized he was probably getting nervous.

“I’ll go with you.” He shrugged as casually as he could, looking at the bottom of his almost empty cup.

“Yeah, that’d be—that’d be nice. Thanks.”

There was nothing more to add, and they finished eating in a more or less comfortable silence. It was almost 10 when they went downstairs. Misaki had his board tucked under his arm and his backpack like usual. Saruhiko only had a jacket. It felt a bit awkward not to carry his sword for so long. He wasn’t used to it anymore, having nothing hanging at his hip for more than a whole day. But he found comfort in the harnesses around his body holding a good number of knives.

“Eh… You do the talking.”

Misaki’s voice startled him. Saruhiko frowned and looked at him, then followed his line of sight and saw the desk and… Oh, right. _That_.

“Oh, hello sirs!” the cheerful redhead from the day before greeted them.

Saruhiko felt a weight sinking within him. Now Misaki was giving him a weird look. He looked nervous again, kind of distraught…

“Did you sleep well?” the receptionist asked again, looking at Misaki with obvious interest. The weight seemed heavier and Saruhiko’s frown deepened.

“Well enough,” he answered stiffly.

“Shall we look for a new room then?” she went on with the brightest smile (at least, Saruhiko imagined that was her intent).

There was an awkward moment again, and then they exchanged another long look. “They have another room, right?” Misaki asked cautiously. He didn’t seem pleased. It was terribly confusing… But if Saruhiko had to assume things, he’d say the redhead didn’t want to get the new room.

He found that he didn’t want it either.

“I think we’re fine the way we are, thank you,” Saruhiko said and turned away, abandoning the receptionist whose eyes had grown enormous. “Come on Misaki, we’re going.”

He brushed past the redhead and straight to the door. Saruhiko felt strangely pleased when the red clansman didn’t ask any questions and just trailed after him rapidly. The weight was gone.

 

 

**Chapter viii.**

It would have been a lie to say that Yata was confident with this. He was at the top of the highest quarter pipe of the inner park, his board stuck under one foot, looking out at the wide stadium before him and all the components that made the course.

There were a lot of tricks he could pull off easily, and he had enough sponsorship prospects back in Japan to trust his skills. He had earned his place in this tournament. But… really, there’d be the best skaters in the world attending it. It wouldn’t be easy, no.

As his deft and piercing eyes scanned the area, Yata’s gaze suddenly caught Saruhiko. Even from this distance and height he could see him perfectly. He wasn’t the _crow_ for nothing.

The swordsman was sitting on one of the many (vertiginously numerous) seats in the bleachers, looking at his PDA. Maybe he felt the eyes on him, because he suddenly looked up and spotted Yata. Mechanically, the redhead raised a hand and waved it at his former best friend.

 _Ugh, don’t act like a creep all of a sudden_ , Yata thought, stopping immediately. Saruhiko didn’t answer and returned to his PDA. Yata had been thinking about it for hours = since he had woken up, actually. It wasn’t like they were back to normal, but he didn’t know how to behave around Saruhiko either. It was really complicated and he wished he could focus more on his competition than on this matter, but he really couldn’t help it.

There was that part of himself that was still cheering and celebrating over the simple fact that Saruhiko had decided to keep their room and was keen on sharing the bed – which was fucking stupid, why was he so… _Ugh, stoooop_!

Yata kicked his board and started his descent. It was terribly high but he managed fine, speeding just enough, and he even pulled a nice trick at the end of his run. At least it cleared his mind for a moment, but that didn’t last long. Saruhiko had gotten up and was leaning against the railing now, propped on his arms and looking at Yata curiously. Maybe he was impressed? _So what if he is_.

That really was confusing. Yata turned around and decided to explore his ground further, putting more space between himself and Saruhiko. They’d been there for hours. It was definitely time to eat lunch. Actually, that hour had passed, but Saruhiko had said nothing and was still waiting for him to finish his tour properly.

It was new. No, not new. It was the Saruhiko he knew from before, at least in part. Saruhiko who knew what was important to Yata and who never spoiled the things he liked. He’d stay like that and wait for him in silence – his own personal way to show he cared. The redhead wasn’t used to that anymore. These past years, the dark-haired man had spent his time spitting and stepping on each and every thing Yata held dear just for the sake of it.

It was pleasant, but odd as fuck, to have this side of Saruhiko back. The one that actually made some effort for him.

Yata tried a couple of other tricks on the spine and the half pipe before settling on a ramp. That wasn’t even what was bugging him… He really felt happy. Happy to see that Saruhiko was working with him, that things could actually change… But it was so foreign, he had no idea how to be around Saruhiko. He knew some things were out of the question… He couldn’t see himself hugging Saruhiko anymore like they did in the past; yet sometimes it itched a little and he wanted to… _Shut-the-fuck-up_!

“’kay, I think I’m good! Wanna grab something to eat?” he yelled, loud enough to be heard by the other as he skated back toward him.

“You’re sure you’re done?” Saruhiko asked, ignoring – probably on purpose because that idiot still seemed to try and skip as many meals as possible – the previous question.

“Yeah. I can manage. We can come back here tomorrow and Friday, maybe? But I’ve seen around enough, it’s ok.”

“Then let’s go,” Saruhiko agreed, taking the redhead’s backpack with him and starting to walk towards the exit of the bleachers.

Yata nodded. “We’re still getting a sandwich somewhere,” he called after him with a rueful smile.

 

Eventually, they spent the rest of the afternoon at the nearest game center they found. This time, Yata didn’t fry his brain over stupid questions. They were still there, nagging at the back of his head, but he managed to push them away and enjoy himself thoroughly.

It had been years. Years in which he hadn’t had fun like that with Saruhiko. Like that, period, maybe? It was awful to think that, but it was true. He’d been to game centers multiple times with Anna, with Kamamoto, with other friends too. But they weren’t Saruhiko, were they? And every time Yata noticed what he had missed and _how much_ he had missed it, a stupid lump formed in his throat. It occurred more than twice during the afternoon. When he won over Saruhiko for the first time after eight defeats and they bickered then laughed like two morons, for example… When they found the replica of an old zombie-killing game they were crazy about back in the day and actually destroyed the best score of the center in no time at all. When they won a co-op game over a couple of teens who insulted them in English, which Saruhiko was able to respond to with a flawless return insult and – _damn that was fucking awesome_.

“We should head back. It’s pretty late already. I have to work on some reports,” the dark-haired man eventually said, after some time.

Yata felt terribly disappointed but nodded. Saruhiko wasn’t on a vacation here, after all.

“We can eat in the room then. I’ll order some pizza or something. Maybe you can download a movie?” he asked eagerly, still high from that awesome afternoon.

“We’ll see about that,” Saruhiko drawled, smiling sideways nonetheless.

The redhead felt bold all of a sudden and grinned ferociously. He nudged him in the ribs. “Eh come on! You were pretty pumped up back then, don’t lie! Don’t be all gloomy now, Saru!”

“Who’s gloomy, idiot?” the dark-haired man replied, ready to hail a cab. He smiled lightly.

They were on the sidewalk, and the air was still hot as hell despite the late hour.

“That was so cool, right? I had fun.” Yata decided to be honest. He couldn’t stop the words even if he wanted to, anyway.

“That was… decent,” Saruhiko replied, finally succeeding in calling a vehicle.

Yata couldn’t help but laugh mockingly. “Decent, right! My ass it was _decent_! It was fun and you should admit it already!”

“Get in, Misaki,” Saruhiko ordered him, faking tiredness, but the redhead was sure he felt that way too.

“Yeah, yeah.” It felt so good.

 

When they arrived at the hotel, Yata didn’t shower right away. The sun was still up and Saruhiko had work to do, so he decided to change into his swim trunks and went to the hotel swimming pool. There was no one there, and he enjoyed the cool water on his tanned skin for almost an hour, until the moment the young receptionist walked in on him and asked him to get out since they were closing the pool. She explained that they closed it just before the night, because then it would’ve been dangerous. And she liked his swim trunks too. And… Actually she said a lot of things and it was probably more detailed than that, but Yata didn’t understand most of it. He was already pretty proud he had figured those out. But… it was still awkward. She kept staring at him, and he felt obliged to cover his chest with his towel. But fortunately she had work to do and at some point, she let him go. Good - now the only thing he wanted was to join Saruhiko and have some pizza.

Except that wasn’t what happened. He wasn’t exactly dripping wet when he got out of the lift a moment later, but his hair was still damp and he was trying to dry it when he almost collided with Saruhiko in the corridor.

“S—Saruhiko?” the skater stuttered, confused.

“It’s about time you came back,” the dark-haired man drawled, rolling his eyes. He seemed annoyed. But Yata had done nothing wrong, had he?

“Come with me,” he added, catching hold of Yata’s wrist.

Startled, the redhead let himself be dragged across the corridor. Saruhiko didn’t lead them to their suite, though. He stopped in front of another door and pushed it. There was a flight of stairs behind it. It didn’t go down, but up. Yata scrunched his nose, confused as fuck by that point. But then the other dragged him along again and up those stairs, until he pushed through another door, which he blocked back by jamming the handle upward.

Yata blinked a couple of times. They were on the rooftop of the hotel.

“Ok, I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed,” he breathed out, amazed.

“I was bored. You stayed at the pool for an eternity,” Saruhiko complained, letting go of him eventually.

“I thought you were working,” the redhead pointed out.

“I work fast,” the swordsman mumbled in reply. “Now shut up and turn around.”

Yata obeyed because the tone wasn’t dry. Actually, it sounded like Saruhiko was in a hurry to show him something, something cool… Like when they were younger.

And it _was_ something cool.

The sun was setting for good now. And the view was even more spectacular from there than it had been from their bed. The sight that was offered was worthy of a dream. The valley before them was bathed in that pretty crimson red… Yata’s heart throbbed painfully when he thought of Anna and how marvelous she’d find this. He promised himself to take a picture the next day for her.

“Cool, hm?” Saruhiko asked next to him, hanging back and forth on his feet with his hands tucked in his pockets, that nonplussed expression on his face.

“You’re trying hard, right?” Yata asked as a huge grin spread across his face.

“Trying what?” the other asked genuinely.

“Acting like you’re too cool for this shit,” the redhead teased.

And his smile was infectious, because Saruhiko started to grin back just as widely.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter ix.**

Thursday was almost a repeat of Wednesday. Saruhiko found it even easier to wake up next to Misaki. They had been up late, though. He had downloaded a movie, in Japanese obviously, because Misaki couldn’t watch local TV. But they hadn’t even finished it. They had started talking in the middle of it and the conversation had lasted until way after the movie was over. There was a pizza box on the bed between them, the third they had gluttonously devoured, and their faces were only lit by the lights of the city that came through the huge window bays. It had been pleasant. Saruhiko found it pleasant.

He was still balancing on an edge though, rediscovering the same person with all the noticeable differences. Misaki had matured a lot, and so had he, after all. But he still was the same fired-up boy and still flashed the same blinding smiles when he enjoyed himself too much.

Saruhiko had a hard time accepting it, and accepting the fact he could work with it. Sometimes it felt so easy it was suffocating. Had they not been the worst enemies? How could they smile at each other and talk sweet nonsense after having been at each other’s throats for so long? But again, it wasn’t that surprising. There had always been a thing between them. That thing, intimate, precious and inexplicable, that connected them. They just clicked perfectly for reasons he couldn’t explain back when they were teenagers - and still couldn’t explain now.

Thinking about it made him a bit dizzy though, so he focused once more on Misaki. They had overslept a bit this morning, and had come to the skate park just after lunch. Misaki had proposed another afternoon at the game center, but Saruhiko – despite how tempting that prospect was – had been realistic. Misaki needed to practice. He had to get to know that new field if he wanted to be totally efficient the next day. Plus, this time they weren’t alone. A day before the contest, other skaters had had the same idea and he could tell the redhead was already a bit more nervous than he had been the previous day.

Saruhiko watched all of them carefully from his seat, trying to analyze their qualities and flaws. Not that he was an expert in skateboarding, but he could tell when someone had weaknesses. The German contestant (he had overheard him talking on the phone) was really good, for example, but his landings were way too heavy when he attempted tricks that sent him too high. Misaki was light and agile. He always landed perfectly and gracefully. It was disturbing… had always been… how Misaki was nothing but a delicate feather when he swirled on his board, despite how obnoxious and loud he could be the rest of the time. 

“Earth to Saruhiko, earth to—“

“You’re an idiot,” Saruhiko hammered back, and dropped his gaze to see Misaki, who was standing at the bottom of the bleachers, his board off the ground. He was looking up at him.

“What’s with that response?” he groaned, scowling.

“I don’t know, it’s the response to everything.” Saruhiko shrugged.

“Tch! Dumbass! Anyway… You weren’t listening!”

“Probably because it wasn’t interesting?”

“Don’t piss me off, dammit,” Misaki growled back, brandishing a fist in the air. “So! You coming down or what? I’m done here and I could use a shower,” the skater said, craning his neck - to get a better view of Saruhiko, probably.

“It’s not even six. You can stay here another hour. You’re sure you want to stop for today?” the dark-haired man asked, frowning when one of the contestants landed perfectly from the rail behind Misaki.

The redhead turned around to see what had Saruhiko making a face and he paled noticeably. The swordsman didn’t like that sight one bit.

“Don’t worry, he tends to put all his weight on the front. I bet tomorrow he’ll face-plant like an idiot,” Saruhiko suddenly blurted out, looking back at Misaki.

The shorter one’s head snapped up, his eyebrows disappearing under his beanie as he gaped at Saruhiko. At least his cheeks had gained back some color... But Saruhiko felt really strange all of a sudden.

 

“Eh, Saruhiko?” It was the tentative tone, more than Misaki’s presence over his shoulder, that forced him to look up.

He was sprawled casually on his stomach on the bed, emailing Domyoji some nasty poems about his last doodles on the report that had come in the day before. Except now he couldn’t act so casual anymore because a droplet of warm water had just crashed on his cheek the moment he had looked up. Misaki hovered above him, trying to dry his hair frenetically and sending droplets all around the place.

After a moment when Saruhiko couldn’t find the strength to move, he suddenly jerked up and put some space between them.

His heart was beating a bit too fast at the moment. And his pulse only quickened when he saw the pearls collecting on the other’s collarbone, slowly dripping down…

“I was thinking maybe we could, eeerr… It’s stupid, ok?” What was he up to now? At least it stole Saruhiko’s attention back and helped him to look away from the exposed tanned muscular chest. _Really_?

He still felt like running away, though.

“So… remember that time when I said we could go to a bar and all…? We never did that, actually.”

Saruhiko didn’t see the point in helping him there. Misaki seemed to be trying to say something and it didn’t help the swordsman’s heart to slow its frenetic course, so he stayed quiet and waited for it.

“It’s just that… The hotel actually has a nice bar, and, well, maybe we could go there and have a drink?” That last sentence was literally blurted out at the speed of light and Saruhiko had a hard time catching it.

And that idiot was now hiding behind his towel, red in the face and obviously waiting for a response. The first thing that crossed Saruhiko’s mind was pretty logical - and totally off too, considering the mood.

“You have your competition tomorrow. You can’t get wasted.”

Misaki rolled his eyes and strode to the dressing room, dropping the towel on the floor. He was restless, Saruhiko could tell.

“Who’s talking about getting wasted? We can have a drink or two or… can’t you hold your liquor?” the redhead asked from behind the closet’s door.

At that, the blue clansman huffed disdainfully and rolled of the bed. “Speak for yourself.”

“Just a beer, is that alright?” Misaki eventually asked, his head popping out of the dressing room, serious this time.

“I guess it can’t harm anyone.” Or so he hoped…

 

It _was_ a fancy bar. The moment they entered it, Saruhiko could tell that Misaki regretted his life choices a bit. That place wasn’t for them - it wasn’t them at all. From the marble floor to the dim light, including the jazzy soft music and the waiters dressed better than they were…

“Ok, it’s just one drink,” Misaki breathed out next to him, as if he was gathering some courage.

“Don’t be so shy now, Misaki~,” Saruhiko sing-sang with a smirk.

“Fuck off,” the redhead muttered back.

“Such nasty words aren’t allowed in such a fancy place,” the dark-haired man continued the teasing.

“You want me to kick your ass?”

“I’m sure they’d stop you before you try, using the stick they all have up their—“

“Their?” Misaki cut him off with a stupid grin. “Stay polite. Ok… do we sit at the bar or something?” He asked it aloud, but was obviously wondering to himself more than anything.

“I don’t know, Misaki. Would you prefer to drink on the floor? It’s clean, though—“

“Shut up smartass! I just don’t want to sit on the couches. Look at these, they are…” Misaki couldn’t end his sentence. Saruhiko was starting to become a little fed up with standing awkwardly at the entrance to the place, so he took the other’s arm and pulled him toward the counter.

There were stools there and he dropped on one, beckoning the redhead to do the same. Now they had taken a step.

The bartender immediately joined them, asking what they’d like to drink. Saruhiko looked at the board above the bar and the menus… There were only fancy cocktails and classy drinks. Misaki frowned at them in deep concentration. Saruhiko remembered all the time he had passed at bar HOMRA, listening to Kusanagi making all different kinds of drinks. They should start with something soft. And since it had to be classier than a beer…

“Two white Martinis,” he drawled eventually. “Lemon slice, no olive,” he added. There was no way a green thing made it into his glass tonight.

“Martinis?” Misaki asked, puzzled.

“You’re the one who spent all his time at a bar. Seriously, it’s stupid. We’re running on empty stomachs. That shouldn’t be too much at least,” he grumbled.

He was actually not at all confident about his drinking skills. He almost never drank alcohol. His body wasn’t used to it, and skinny as he was, plus the fact that he hadn’t eaten for hours… Really, a Martini was fine.

The redhead didn’t answer that and turned toward the counter, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface - to express his nervousness, probably. His other hand covered his mouth, elbow resting on the counter too, and with his feet barely brushing the floor… Yeah, Misaki looked like he was a few years too young to be sitting there. Even with the blacks jeans he wore for once instead of his cargo shorts and his black fitted t-shirt and its v-neck. It was confusing to see him in those clothes, actually. They weren’t a size too big, they didn’t reveal too much skin, but you could actually make out the shape of his muscles for once, thin and athletic.

“Is there something wrong?” Misaki asked self-consciously.

Yes. Yes, Saruhiko’s face was on fire, and that was totally wrong. He wanted to get out, go back. This wasn’t them. Fortunately, the two glasses the bartender slid before them spared him the trouble of replying.

 

 

C **hapter x.**

This place made Yata way too uncomfortable. He had no idea why he had proposed the idea in the first place. They had been so much better off the previous evening in their room… And he had ruined it by offering to go and have a drink.

He’d genuinely thought it was a good idea! They were in the US, so they ought to do _things_ , _cool_ things actually! Not hiding in a hotel suite? But then, this wasn’t the way he’d imagined an evening spent having some drinks with Saruhiko. This place reeked of money and pompous asses… And the music was boring… And that light, really? Were they in a B movie or some shit? So stupid!

So, here he was now, turning his glasses over and over between his hands, looking at Saruhiko sideways from time to time. So much for fun…

Saruhiko looked totally nonplussed, staring straight ahead of him, leaning slightly against the counter with that eternal bored expression and that stupid cool aura emanating from him. Yata wondered how he did that. Always looking so cool and unfazed. It was a bit annoying sometimes, particularly when it made Yata’s throat go dry like that.

Once again, he caught himself staring and looked away. Saruhiko’s long black cardigan fell off his sides as lazily as his attitude, covering his jeans and white shirt - the outfit had something cool to it, too… _What the fuck is wrong with me_? If Saruhiko was in his head he’d tell him to change the record. _Cool_ was a nice word but maybe it was time to find another? And why did his brain stick to that anyway? Come on, it wasn’t like he was into Saruhiko or something. _Stop thinking!_ Yata took a sip of his drink, his face scrunching at the sour taste.

It wasn’t bad, but it tasted strange. It was elaborate, and the lemon was kind of nice. 

“Starting to appreciate grown-up things?” Saruhiko asked out of nowhere, lowering his own drink.

Yata looked at him with a questioning expression. The dark-haired man arched an eyebrow, and his lopsided smile seemed like it was making fun of him. Of course.

“Quit that shit. It’s not like it’s the first time I drank alcohol,” the redhead sighed, taking another sip to make a point.

“Well, you look just like a kid tasting coffee for the first time. Want me to ask for something to sweeten your drink, Misaki~?”

“Are you having fun?” the redhead asked a bit more sharply than he intended, and Saruhiko’s grin vanished on the spot. _Fuck_.

“Plenty.” The reply came dry and icy.

Yata felt a cold shiver running down his spine and a rush of panic turning his buttons on. With nothing to do, and not willing to abandon this already, he stayed just where he was and drank his glass to the bottom in one go. It wasn’t a big drink, but he still had to gulp a couple of times to finish it, and it left a sour taste burning his throat.

“What are you doing?” Saruhiko muttered darkly, looking at the empty glass with disapproval.

Yata didn’t answer right away. His neck and face were burning slowly, the heat progressively rising inside him as the beverage vanished into his system. He wouldn’t get wasted with that, but he rarely drank and he was sure two drinks would be enough to make him dizzy at this point. He remembered all too well the few times he had been allowed to drink at HOMRA… It had been a huge disaster.

The bartender – as if he was programmed for it – noticed the empty glass immediately and came back to snatch it away. Yata leaned toward him on an impulse and pronounced the words he had been reading over and over since they’d been sitting there silently. He had seen Kusanagi prepare it quite a few times. “Sex on the beach.”

Next to him, Saruhiko choked on his drink instantly. Yata waited for the bartender to move away before looking at the blue clansman. He had already erased any sign of that loss of composure, but he was clearly irritated by it. “I didn’t know you could pronounce that word,” he dropped unpleasantly.

The tone definitely wasn’t so friendly anymore. It made Yata’s chest tighten a bit. He rolled his eyes – hard, to hide his feelings.

“How original, the virgin jokes again.” Seriously, they weren’t back to that, were they? He didn’t mind joking but he thought they had moved on… That they weren’t just mean for the sake of being mean. But it seemed like old habits died hard.

The cocktail was pushed toward Yata at this precise moment. The bartender flashed the skater a warm smile, and Saruhiko slammed his empty glass on the bar. “Same as his,” he ordered a bit sharply.

The bartender’s smile melted and he walked away to make his beverage. Yata gave Saruhiko an annoyed look. They were going to ruin the mood like pros if they were going at it like that. Hopefully they could still… “So fancy, it’s ridiculous. But it’s another level, huh?” Saruhiko badmouthed, looking at the bartender with an expression close to disgust. Yata wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Another level…”

Saruhiko shrugged and hunched slightly. “Well… I don’t understand why you were so eager to come to a place like this with that kind of standard. It’s unlike you. After all, you’re better suited for bars like HOMRA, right?”

The skater couldn’t pinpoint if Saruhiko was saying this to mock him, or in some other bad way, but his body reacted, nonetheless… unpleasantly. Goosebumps ran down his arms. They should avoid that kind of subject. They were already way too tense to venture into those dangerous waters.

“How would you know how the bar is? You’re the one who chose not to stick around, so don’t talk about what you don’t know,” Yata mumbled, trying to breathe in and out slowly. His tone had been a bit harsh, but he couldn’t help it, and it was already a million times less aggressive than what he was capable of.

“Like it changed since I left,” Saruhiko huffed back, cracking a knuckle.

Too tense. The atmosphere was way too thick. Before answering, the redhead took a sip of the bitter beverage.

“It did! You’re not the only who did. So just—drop it. We’re not talking about that!”

It was better that way. Better not to pointlessly pour gasoline on the sleeping ember. Next to him, the dark-haired man fidgeted more and more. Something was happening, and Yata could only watch it coming. His senses were tingling… as if he had a bad premonition. It was slowly building, and sooner or later…

“Don’t complain if you’re feeling bad tomorrow because you drank too much,” Saruhiko dropped in a spiteful tone.

“What the fuck!” Yata exclaimed, then abruptly shrunk in on himself as they got outraged glares from across the room. “What is wrong with you?” he asked again, gripping his new glass viciously before actually taking a long sip.

This one was even more bitter and it took all of his will power not to make a face.

“If you want to make a point, you can, but don’t go whining at me tomorrow because you have a hangover.” Saruhiko lowered his voice too but kept that insufferably smug tone.

His drink clung to the surface of the bar and he took hold of it, bringing it to his lips immediately. Yata couldn’t believe his eyes or ears. And something, deep down, told him that this change of attitude and hostility and… all the goddamn tension! None of it had to do with drinking, actually. It was too stupid. Still, he couldn’t help but take the bait.

“Oi, if you were so against it you could have just said so. What’s up with you now being a jerk all over again?” he hissed.

Now his heart throbbed so hard he could feel it in his throat, a repulsive beat that made the skater want to throw up.

That seemed to push Saruhiko a bit more towards snapping. He slammed the cocktail back on the counter, having drank more than half, and turned fully on his stool to face Yata. The redhead was starting to feel light-headed but he wasn’t sure if it was related to the alcohol. Or at least, not completely.

“All over again, huh? Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me,” the dark-haired man hissed, some red spots appearing on his cheek bones.

“Well quit being you for a sec, ok? You’ve been pushing yourself too much into being a dick, Saru!” Yata snapped back, not bothering to keep his voice down now, and not able to do so anyway. “It’s not a fucking competition!”

With that he shifted away and brought his drink to his lips, emptying it to occupy himself. His heart was pulsing so hard in his chest it seemed like it wanted to get out. He definitely felt dizzy, and too hot.

The quiet didn’t last, though. Saruhiko was on his feet in a flash, grabbing Yata’s arm to prevent him from drinking further. The skater helplessly dropped the already empty glass at that, caught off guard by the intrusive gesture.

It bounced on the counter and then onto the floor, where it inevitably shattered to pieces. The next second, the bar fell into a deep silence, broken only by the buzzing in the redhead’s ears.

He hadn’t realized he had gotten up too and was now facing Saruhiko, his arm caught between them in the swordsman’s death-strong grip. For one second, the other had seemed pretty pissed off at his own reaction, but the moment they made eye contact, that expression had vanished - to be replaced by one that Yata wasn’t pleased to discover. It was like they had erased their immediate surroundings. Yata only felt Saruhiko’s warmth, his wrist consumed where their skin connected. And those eyes. The gaze was steady, and burning.

It wasn’t the hate-filled gaze he had suffered during the past years. It wasn’t full of mockery or dancing with madness either. It was hard and black, for sure… But that didn’t look like the countless - and meaningless - dangerous fights they’d had before. There was a storm in Saruhiko’s eyes. A fascinating but threatening storm.

In a sense, this gaze, deep with meaning and questions, was way worse. It felt heavy on him… And he knew his own eyes reflected the piercing gray-blue orbs at the moment.

The bartender was at their side, a fact that Yata had been vaguely aware of, and he eventually said something in a final, menacing tone that left no room for interpretation. Saruhiko was the first one to break eye contact, looking at the man like he was a piece of junk. They had been asked to leave, obviously.

It was actually fine with Yata. He tore his arm free from Saruhiko’s grip and pushed him sideway to get out of there as fast as possible.

Of course the other was on his tail, and there was no way they could escape each other, but running away from this place that was so unlike them allowed Yata to breathe anew, if only a little.

 

 

**Chapter xi.**

Saruhiko was out of breath, He still couldn’t quite make out what had just happened nor how it had gotten out of hand this fast. He was mad, though. Terribly mad. At Misaki, but also at himself. That was probably the worst part. But his head was a mess - the answer was as simple as that. It had been a mess for three days and now, with a bit of alcohol and being in a place that felt so uncomfortable and foreign… it had made him snap.

Things weren’t easy. There was still that feeling of anxiety that came back whenever he over-thought things and he _had been over-thinking like mad_. It was oppressive, all these sudden changes in the atmosphere - in the situation - between them. Misaki. Misaki had changed, everything felt out of control, and even when it felt pleasant, Saruhiko couldn’t get a clear grasp of the situation and it was terribly stressful. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to say, if it was right or wrong to begin with…

He had been playing a part so long with Misaki… A part that wouldn’t have blended with who he was now, sure. But it still was there, it still haunted him and came back, assaulting him whenever Misaki leaned into his personal space, whenever a happy memory surfaced from their childhood, whenever he tried to do something _normal_ with him. Not something that was purposefully hurtful, or something born of an instinct nourished by resentment and triggered by raw and hurt feelings.

He was completely lost, and that feeling suffocated him. Misaki’s bright smile kept appearing in his mind and he felt even more enraged. He was blocking it, somehow, and couldn’t figure out why.

That man was dead; he had buried him, buried the unhealthy hold he had on him… And yet Saruhiko realized he was reacting according to the awful reflex that guy had taught him. Refusing the happiness, the good things, the beautiful things… because they broke? Because they didn’t last? _No, I’ve been here already - this isn’t true_! He knew it wasn’t true, but it was like an old defensive mechanism.

He didn’t exactly believe it, but still… He wasn’t as ready as he thought he had been to allow himself to let go of his past. Those chains were thick and still held him back somehow. Coming to realize it was already a huge step, but at the moment, his ideas weren’t clear enough to work further on that.

His steps had led him back to the lift and he was already pressing the buttons in earnest. Misaki was nowhere to be seen but another escalator was going up on his left. Of course the redhead wouldn’t run away. He was too proud, and he couldn’t manage by himself out there… But then why was Saruhiko going after him?

He needed to breathe, to get rid of that consuming fire, and so he should’ve gone outside. But his body acted the other way around, rushing into the lift as soon as the door opened. The alcohol wasn’t strong enough to make his mind foggy but it definitely annihilated the barriers he had set for himself. That cool temper was nothing but a sweet memory…

And he knew it wouldn’t get better when the door reopened and he caught Misaki’s back in his line of sight. The redhead was almost at the door of their suite.

Somehow they had started it. This was the breaking point of the lingering tension that had been there all along… It was vertiginous.

As expected, it wasn’t over either. As soon as Saruhiko stepped out of the lift, Misaki’s head jerked back abruptly, fists clenched at his sides and his amber eyes sparkling angrily. The swordsman received the most murderous glare he had seen in weeks, and Misaki almost launched himself at the door to open it. It infuriated Saruhiko. So he was going to _glare_ at him but still run away, and directly into the only safe territory they had managed to get here?

Seemed like it, since Misaki disappeared into the room without a word.

He stalked after him, shutting the door violently behind him.

“Why don’t you get the fuck out?” Misaki eventually barked, blocking the way by standing in the middle of the room.

“Oh! So _I_ should get the fuck out?” Saruhiko snarled back, helplessly blurting words back.

“Yeah, see if you can be despicable somewhere else! That’d be helping!” Misaki went on fiercely. “Don’t waste your potential, just show the world what a giant prick you are!”

And what could he answer to that? Misaki insulted him because Misaki was offended, and so what next…? It was an old pattern - they didn’t play that game anymore. The notes, the whole partition, it slipped between Saruhiko’s fingers. He did smile manically out of habit but it was void.

It was enough to push the so-impulsive Misaki over the edge, though.

He was at his throat in no time at all, a hand clenched on his cardigan, the other trembling at his side. “What was that even about? Care to tell me? What is it? You ran out of fake good feelings? Should’ve fucking known better!”

And _that_ was entirely wrong. The misunderstanding almost seemed ridiculous. Saruhiko could have laughed if he didn’t want to push against Misaki so bad, if he wasn’t panicking internally so violently.

“Get your shit together Mi~sa—“

“Oh no! YOU FUCKING DON’T! This won’t work!” The redhead shoved him away, back from where he was coming from, and certainly harder than he had intended. It was still there, though, Saruhiko’s back colliding hard with the door. It took him a second before he jumped back on Misaki, his arm already jerking in that familiar and comfortable gesture, the cold metal fitting right between his fingers as he grasped his knife.

Although the other’s fist colliding with his temple made him lose a balance the alcohol had already destroyed. His glasses flew away, dark bangs falling straight into his eyes. The knife fell on the floor too, clinging savagely.

“Why are you doing that? What have I done, huh!? Why do you constantly need to ruin everything?” Misaki yelled, all over him once again, gripping his collar this time, as if he wanted to strangle him. It felt so much like a déjà-vu, it was sickening. _Sickening_. Saruhiko dropped the smile, dropped the mask he tried to create since he’d set foot in this room. They weren’t like that anymore, but Misaki wouldn’t listen. His hands caught the redhead’s wrists to jerk them away but the other was fighting. It kept happening, even when he tried to stop it…

“I tried to make things right! I fucking tried!” The redhead punctuated these words by shoving him into the door, slamming Saruhiko hard each time against it. “But I can only fail with you, right? I fucking always fail in the end and I fucking don’t know why and it’s—”

“I TRIED TOO!” The air left Saruhiko’s lungs all at once as he screamed back without even realizing it. “I’m fucking trying to make it right but I can’t fix it if I can’t figure it out!”

At least, this time Misaki stopped pushing and puzzlement crossed his face for a moment. Saruhiko was panting and it had nothing to do with the hands on his collar loosening slightly their grip.

“You’re completely wrong, Misaki. Why do you have to be wrong _now_?” Saruhiko then asked, his voice breaking pathetically. He was cornered and vomited the words again. It wasn’t exactly freeing him. But he really needed Misaki to see that he hadn’t been acting like his past self - this had nothing to do with all the taunting, all the hate…

“Then if I’m wrong, fucking tell me! Tell me!” Misaki was just as desperate, pressing against him anew.

Saruhiko’s feet slid slightly on the floor, his legs turning to cotton, making them even in height. He was suffocating again. It wasn’t easy. He knew what Misaki was asking for. To say things clearly for once… He was within his rights to ask for that from Saruhiko now that they had changed… But it was still hard. He still didn’t know how to do that without tripping over his own feet.

“I don’t know how to be around you now!” he let out, closing his eyes for a second.

His fingers dug into the other’s flesh, he needed to cling to something badly because he was drowning under that expectant gaze. “I tried to make things change too, but I just—it’s not easy! I don’t even know if it’s right to try again after all that, but I still want to—Misaki you’re…”

It hurt to get the words out. Usually he kept them inside - he blocked them even before acknowledging them… “Misaki makes me want to fix things too. It’s just so confusing! I don’t know what’s correct.” Saruhiko couldn’t believe he was uttering those words. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t composed as usual, only daring to think those things…

“Saruhiko…” Misaki’s voice wavered. His eyes were huge and bright. Something dawned in his gaze after several seconds, though. The clarity that Saruhiko saw when Misaki was about to give him a 100 points answer. It was the clarity he saw when Misaki understood what he was trying to say… “I don’t know how to do this either… I just want to make it work. I still feel it! Fucking dammit! It’s still there! When we’re together, I still want to—I still think we can be something! Not like before! But if we’re together… If it’s us, we still can—We said we could take the world over… We could! Then if we could do that… I’m sure we can fucking fix it! We can! I don’t know how it’s going to be, but I—I… I NEED YOU IN THIS LIFE TOO.”

For a second, Misaki’s eyes lit on fire. Really. A wild dancing red flame was caught in his pupils just before it flickered and their bodies jolted with the outburst, the way they would’ve if they had fallen at the edge of a bonfire.

The feeling lingered, prickling Saruhiko’s skin, biting into it, his blood pulsating in his veins with as much force as it did when he triggered his lost aura. And he could feel, right there, just under his fingertips, that Misaki’s pulse beat in sync with his own. Strangely, the swordsman focused on that to process what he had just heard. It helped to push away the onslaughts the adrenaline had forced on his body.

“So don’t you dare… fucking abandon this. Don’t you dare not fight for it just because it’s not easy! You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, and we’ve been through too…”

Much.

It was all too much. _Don’t talk anymore_.

In a swift motion, Saruhiko’s hands left the other’s wrists to fly at his t-shirt and he pulled Misaki to him, pushing his head forward in the meantime so their lips would meet. Another jolt sparked though them. The ghost of a burn tickled Saruhiko’s collarbone for a second, then it was gone and all that mattered was Misaki’s mouth moving against his own. All that mattered was them, close again, together.

They might have been the most fucked up pair lost in that storm until now, but suddenly things clicked back into place, just where they needed to be, and silence washed over them, appeasing Saruhiko’s thoughts despite the fire running wilder in his veins.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter xii.**

Yata’s mind was blank. The infinite mix of different sensations overwhelming his body was too much to focus on already. This wasn’t a turn he’d expected their fight to take. This wasn’t the stage Yata had expected their relationship to move to. Not that he hadn’t thought about it at some point… But when he wondered how to behave around Saruhiko, he didn’t think about this at all… Yet it felt right. Not logical. Not confusing either. Not expected, yet not wrong. It matched with his need to be close to the other, to make some contact. Damn, it even matched the infuriating need to get physical when they were at odds. It was the place he’d always craved.

It was right. It was good. It made sense. At least, Yata would’ve thought so if he’d been able to think. But his brain had turned off.

Saruhiko’s lips were pushing against his, moving, and his body had answered right after the first shock had passed. And he was still answering, forcefully. Yata had stumbled when he had pushed Saruhiko further against the door, suddenly desperate for more.

They were kissing. And Yata’s whole body was burning harder than every time he had ever called his aura before. He had actually felt it, the spark he hadn’t felt in month, the jolt animating his body and consuming his skin in the most ecstatic way…

It was the same pleasure coursing through his veins, mingling with the adrenaline… Except _this_ was a million times better and stronger.

He didn’t even know how it was supposed to go… He was totally new to this, but his desperation and passion made up for his lack of experience. Because that was it, wasn’t it? He wanted this. He had been surprised, and he had jumped out of his skin even, but never had the idea of pushing Saruhiko away crossed his mind.

Somehow, this wasn’t any different from the day that Yata had jumped to take little Fushimi’s defense despite his obvious inferiority to the enemies. It wasn’t different from the day he had awkwardly looked over the wall of that stall to talk to his gloomy loner of a classmate. It wasn’t different from abandoning the only home he had ever known at a very young age to follow Saruhiko… It wasn’t different from all the times he had gotten into a fight with him when he shouldn’t have, even if it had to end with bad wounds and harsh cuts… He couldn’t help it.

Yata had always been drawn to Saruhiko. Always. And the reverse was also true. At times when everyone else would have turned away, even when others didn’t understand what made them so close to each other… He could never explain that to himself. They weren’t like two pieces of puzzles, with their sharp edges and rough cut, and yet they clicked together. They were attracted to each other, even when it made no sense… They just were meant to be, for the worst as much as for the better.

And they’d seen the worst very closely.

Yata’s arms went up and circled Saruhiko’s neck, pulling him harder against him. They breathed hard through their noses, their mouths, every time they had the chance, as they each pressed into the other endlessly.

It was rough and clumsy, their lips slipping against each other, swollen and covered with a layer of saliva, but it was one of the best thing Yata had ever done.

He was still mad, it was still complicated, and they couldn’t resolve everything with just that, but it still made more sense now.

His stomach fluttered and his heart ached from throbbing so violently. The redhead felt his pulse in his wrists, felt his face heating up more and more… It was kind of scary and amazing at the same time, and he wasn’t ashamed about that. And that might have been thanks to the alcohol mixed in his blood… but he didn’t find it embarrassing to kiss his oldest friend. Though it would be a mess afterwards…

But for now, Yata couldn’t care about that. Saruhiko’s hands cupped his jaw, and a needy, short “Mmh” escaped the swordsman as he stepped forward, forcing Yata to follow the move blindly. He stepped on the knife on the floor at some point and almost lost his balance but Saruhiko’s hands held him. A second later the back of his legs hit the bed and they fell backward in a mess of tangled limbs. They hit the mattress brutally, and Saruhiko fell off his lap onto his side, his hands gripping the void helplessly.

And that was the end of it. Yata was on his back, looking at the ceiling with wide eyes and he felt Saruhiko rolling into the same position just beside him a moment after. And _now_ , despite the alcohol and the rightness of it all… it felt awkward.

He had just kissed - like his life depended on it - his former best friend, worst enemy and most important person in life. After a fight. After they’d shared heartfelt words. And suddenly Yata was too aware of everything. The disturbing silence. Saruhiko swallowing soundly. His own short breath matching Saruhiko’s erratic one. Their proximity. How hot and thick the atmosphere and the temperature of the room were…

 _I want to do it again_. And that too.

His hands, the left, the one near Saruhiko itched to grab the other again. His skin prickled… He wanted to get close again, it felt so good. Even if there was that kind of gross feeling of slickness on his chin where some drool had ran. Even if it made things even more difficult to understand and to sort out now… Or was it the contrary?

Maybe they needed it. Maybe it was an answer he hadn’t dared to consider because their relationship was too messy, but it still was an answer.

And that fucking silence set him on edge.

“We shouldn’t fight - you have your competition tomorrow.”

Fuck, it wasn’t what he expected to hear first after that. And it wasn’t what he wanted to hear either. And he _knew_ , because he knew Saruhiko by heart, that it wasn’t what Saruhiko wanted to say. Except the blue clansman had that nasty habit of always doing some things instead of others if it made it easier for him.

Saruhiko called that logic and pragmatism, but from Yata’s perspective it was nothing but cowardice and postponement. He could get that Saruhiko wanted to protect himself or some shit but, really…

“Who fucking cares?” Yata breathed out in utter disbelief. “Your timing sucks.”

No response. Just Saruhiko’s breath shortening a bit more. He was nervous. But so was Yata, dammit.

“You can’t avoid what just happened,” he also said.

“I’m not—“ The redhead didn’t need to interrupt him, Saruhiko stopped on his own.

It was Yata’s turn to work, again. But it didn’t irk him too much. Now that he knew they were kind of on the same page, he could lead Saruhiko into talking it through. The swordsman had said it… He was trying too. Then tonight… _Man, it’s a mess!_ But that mess had resulted in the built-up tension and the unsaid things and their awkward way of acting around each other. It resulted in the changes between them and what they wanted now…

The red vanguard rolled on his side, gathering some courage, to look at the other. Saruhiko’s face was covered by his hands. Yata remembered his glasses had flown away when he had punched him. “Sorry I hit you.”

He realized his hand was trembling, but he moved it nonetheless to take Saruhiko’s hands away gently. _Fuck!_ A nasty bruise was already blossoming on the upper half of the other’s cheekbone and at the corner of his eye.

The pair of blue gems fell on him. They shone, brightly. It was a rare sight. Maybe even a new one, actually. Yata couldn’t remember a time when he had seen Saruhiko’s eyes shining with tears. Though he wasn’t crying and didn’t seem to be on the verge of doing so… Still, it was there. The dark greyish blue irises were bright and as piercing as ever. Otherwise, there was no real trace of emotion to be read on this face. It was Saruhiko, so it didn’t surprise him much.

Yata was aware of how close they were, with him bending over the other’s frame like that, but Saruhiko didn’t try to escape that proximity.

“Saruhiko…” No answer, once again. “Say… Tell me you won’t stop trying. That was fucking awkward just now but…” Damn, he might as well just spill it out. “But it still felt better than anything else. I don’t want this to be—fuck, it’s already awkward, really awkward…”

Yata’s head lolled backward as he closed his eyes, terribly embarrassed. But he needed to go on. “I don’t know what to do but it was getting better, ok? I liked it when it was better. I told you… I don’t want to go back to before, or to rush things but…”

Fucking dammit, it didn’t help that Yata wanted to kiss him again! But that would be exactly what was called _rushing_ and _awkward_. It was too crazy to think about it… But was it even possible to consider that an option after what they’d done to each other? After _everything_ that had happened? No… Maybe? But not like that, not without talking. He sighed deeply. Maybe if they took some distance?

“I’ll go find some ice,” the redhead suddenly blurted out.

Saruhiko was going to have a nasty black eye otherwise. And maybe if they took a moment to cool down or something, it’d be easier to talk after. So Yata pushed himself off the mattress but he never went further than that sitting position. Saruhiko made a point to hold him back.

“Misaki.”

Thin, long, pale fingers curled around the redhead’s wrist, pulling him back towards the bed. Yata’s respiration sped up, his heartbeat going erratic. Maybe they didn’t need too much space or time? His fist clenched, trembling slightly. He… didn’t want space right now.

Breathing out slowly and closing his eyes, the red vanguard braced himself. _I want Saruhiko_.

And he acted on it. Shifting on the bed, he faced the other young man, who was sitting expectantly on the sheets, a hand still gripping him firmly. When he didn’t wear his glasses, most of the time he looked more cunning… Right now, he was just beautiful and seemed somehow defenseless.

_Fuck, I really want—_

Yata kneeled on the bed and was on the other the second after. Saruhiko didn’t try to avoid it, as he secretly hoped. He met him halfway, angling his head in a way that had no room for interpretation left, even for someone as oblivious as Yata…

It was still weird and clumsy, not at all like in the movies he’d hated watching so much. He lost his balance and they fell backward on the bed gradually, Saruhiko sliding slowly under him as they kissed again. And that kiss was also an experience in itself. Yata had no idea what he was supposed to do really once their lips touched… It made him dizzy, and that didn’t help his concentration one bit. Saruhiko’s lips were so soft! Thin and delicate and unbelievably hot right now. They were slightly wet too, from their last kiss, and it added some new sensations to the whole thing.

Yata’s hand skidded on the mattress and their noses bumped, eliciting a wince from Saruhiko. The redhead immediately pulled back, even though he was almost lying on top of the other, their legs tangled again.

The bruise was beginning to viciously consume the skin, growing each second they didn’t take care of it… But it didn’t seem to concern the swordsman in the slightest. Hazel eyes and blue ones locked for a second and Yata swallowed noisily. Just being able to breathe right now was a miracle.

Somehow, Saruhiko managed a light smirk. Yata shivered hard, down to his core. _That_ certainly was a different reaction from the one he’d always gotten from the smirks full of mockery and hate that Saruhiko had sent him when they were at odds.

“You overdid it,” he said, bringing a hand to his soon-to-be black eye. “As expected from a rushing idiot.”

“You want me to give it a little brother?” Yata groaned, his fingertips brushing the other side of Saruhiko’s face.

The dark-haired man tilted his head to the side, and his gaze dropped on the knife the skater had knocked aside. “You can try,” he said then with a half-hearted mocking grin.

He wasn’t going to change after all… And that was somehow reassuring. Some consistency in that mess. Yata felt his insides flutter. _Lame._

But good.

Good enough to try again. As if their thoughts were in sync, Saruhiko brought his arms up at the same time to circle his neck and claim another kiss. Yata let go of everything and gave in for good. This was the only thing he wanted for now.

 

 

**Chapter xiii.**

Saruhiko cracked an eye open and then sat bolt upright a mere second later, his heart pounding in his chest. He was on the bed… No, on the bedsheets, even, and still almost fully dressed. He wasn’t wearing his cardigan anymore but he was painfully aware of the harness he had slept on, which had dug in his ribs and his right arm all night. He wore his jeans too… And his head hurt … But not like a migraine. More like… _Of course - that thing, huh?_

He didn’t even want to see his face right then. And anyway, he had more worrying thoughts to deal with at the moment. He needed to be very pragmatic about them.

 _First,_ they had slept in for sure. Probably just a bit, but they had… Or so Saruhiko thought until he checked his PDA. 5:50AM. Actually it was ten minutes earlier than the alarm should have been set to, but it was fortunate he had woken up.

 _Second_ … What had they fucking done?

His blurry gaze fell on Misaki sleeping next to him. He still wore his jeans too, but not his t-shirt. He had probably gotten rid of it in the middle of the night, because Saruhiko couldn’t remember the redhead stripping at any point.

 _That_ was one of the rare improbable things they hadn’t done the day before.

 _This is stupid, dammit_ , the swordsman thought, trying to push away the wave of panic that was rising inside of him.

He decided to use the ten minutes he had before he needed to wake up the other to hide in the bathroom. He needed a shower, as soon as possible.

 _We kissed._ Turning the water on, Saruhiko clicked his tongue.

 _It wasn’t bad_. Stepping in the shower, he clicked his tongue again. That was a lie. It hadn’t been “ _not bad_ ”, it had been great. Amazing. It had taken his breath away… It had done many things that the blue clansman didn’t even want to list in his head because it was so stupid it made him almost sick.

He had wanted it. Back then… It wasn’t like he was wasted - barely tipsy actually - and that wasn’t what had pushed him to kiss Misaki the first time, and definitely not the following times either.

They had fucking made out. On the bed. For what… An hour? More maybe? Until they had dozed off and… _Fuck_. Was this the way they were supposed to be around each other now?

He didn’t want to examine this too closely. He wasn’t stupid enough to lie to himself: he had wanted this badly, and Saruhiko didn’t need to push very hard to acknowledge that it wasn’t new… A part of him had always wanted that. Always, he had been overwhelmed by the need to get close to Misaki. Which was insane in the first place, considering how little he liked physical contact. But Misaki was different, and always had been. Saruhiko remembered all these years, and every time it was the same: he needed to get close, to be noticed, to acknowledge the other… and with his ineptitude at wording things, being physical with Misaki had always felt like the right thing to do. The good thing - the thing that made him feel sated, yes.

But… Was it right? _Don’t worry about that now_! Again, the dark-haired man clicked his tongue. They wanted things to change. Misaki had said so. He didn’t ask for what they had when they were teenagers. They could have something else, something new… as long as Saruhiko was a part of it.

His heart throbbed almost painfully at the thought. He wanted Misaki too.

 _Now of all times, this is stupid_! They couldn’t afford to be wasting time and energy on this today. Not with the competition.

Saruhiko stepped out of the shower reluctantly and grabbed the clean clothes he had brought in. A white t-shirt to hide under his purple hoodie and black jeans. Now all he had to do was to act as normal as their… whatever it was what they were since they were here … allowed for.

What they had done the previous night would have to wait for later. Saruhiko wasn’t keen on letting those confusing emotions disturb Misaki on such an important day.

After all, the skater had his first round at eleven, and the second in the middle of the afternoon, and he needed to stay focused.

He took a minute to look at his reflection, and resisted the urge to gape. There was no way Saruhiko could hide _that_. His temple, the region surrounding his eye and the highest part of his cheekbone were purplish-green. It had blossomed nicely and grown into a really vivid and colorful flower. Well… He’d wear _Misaki_ with him for a few days, it seemed.

Saruhiko pushed his glasses back up onto his nose and returned to the room. It was just past 6. Misaki still slept soundly. As he approached, the young man realized this was going to be way more difficult to do than to say… but hell, he wanted it again. The swordsman could remember the sensations, the feelings… The way his body reacted and how Misaki’s felt… “Tsk!” Now wasn’t the time!

Maybe Saruhiko was a bit too rough when he bent over the redhead and shook his shoulder. “Misaki.”

The redhead, sleeping on his belly, inhaled deeply, turning his head toward Saruhiko. His eyes were still closed though… And he was stupidly beautiful. “Misaki!” Saruhiko called again, as roughly as the first time. That way was safer.

This time, the vanguard cracked an eye open and blinked in confusion as the amber gem focused slowly on Saruhiko. Then… “Wow! Oh, dammit! Errr, I mean—“

 _Seriously_. Saruhiko’s body relaxed a bit when Misaki calmed down, shifting into a sitting position and panicking less and less. “Hey!” he dropped lamely soon after, as a sheepish greeting.

Saruhiko felt the light smile twisting his mouth before he could even try to stop it. “Hey. You were about to sleep in. Go shower,” he ordered him authoritatively, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the bathroom.

“Right,” the redhead stammered, pushing himself off of the bed.

Saruhiko observed him walking to the bathroom tentatively and tried to measure the level of awkwardness and tension that lingered between them. When Misaki gave him a slight smile before closing the door in a rush, he settled for _average_ , considering what they had done.

Good. Now he needed to order a proper breakfast.

 

When Misaki came out of the bathroom, he was dressed as well. He wore black leggings under large black shorts and a loose tank top of the same color. Saruhiko might have stared a bit too long. “Breakfast is ready.”

Actually, the room service had just come upstairs with two trays weighed down by a lot of different dishes and beverages. The skater’s eyes went wide and shiny at the sight. They hadn’t eaten the previous evening. After going to the bar and with the fight and the awkward… following events, they’d just fallen asleep, surprisingly early too. Misaki was probably starving now.

“Do you need painkillers?” Saruhiko asked as the other sat down on the couch.

Misaki gave him a confused look. “Why would I—Wow! Saruhiko, your face!”

There it was. The skater got back to his feet instantly and rushed to the other, hands ready to grasp at skin and… Saruhiko ducked to avoid him. Then regretted it, or not… He didn’t know! Damn, it was too awkward. But Misaki flashed him an offended glare, and eventually he let him examine his black eye, mumbling in the meantime, “For your head, the painkillers. You drank yesterday.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Misaki countered immediately.

Now he was focused on Saruhiko’s face, and really close too. His calloused yet gentle hand manipulated his jaw lightly to make him angle his face downward. And then… Misaki was adorned by a furious blush.

“Damn, Saruhiko, I’m really sorry!” he said between his teeth.

“I was going to stab you,” the swordsman reminded him casually.

Misaki’s fingertips dug slightly in his flesh and Saruhiko got a sheepish but cocky grin in response. His breath shortened a bit. Misaki was really close, and now it was absolutely impossible not to remember the previous evening. “Right. But… still. I’m sorry.”

“You should eat,” he said, trying to sound normal, but his voice came out husky enough to annoy him.

Misaki nodded and returned to the table, his worrying gaze steady on Saruhiko the whole time. Damn, they were going to face a very long day.

 

And a busy one, as Saruhiko soon found out when they arrived at the stadium.

When they had come here on the previous two days, they’d met some of the organizers. Saruhiko had done all of the translation work, of course. And now Misaki was queueing up alone to register and be assigned a number. He could manage that alone. Saruhiko had thought about all the questions Misaki could face and how to answer them, and had made him learn that during their previous lunches.

He wasn’t far from the redhead, though. The contestants were lining up near a portion of the bleachers where their managers or representatives were supposed to sit. Saruhiko was there, of course, using that formal excuse and silently thanking his silly boss for making it so easy.

Misaki came back soon enough. He seemed pretty nervous, fidgeting more than usual, his eyes shifting all around the place, scanning everything and every person in his surroundings with accuracy and precision. It crushed Saruhiko’s heart just slightly, and he fished a little bottle of water from Misaki’s backpack to hand it to him.

The redhead grabbed it as soon as he dropped down on the seat next to Saruhiko, though one of his legs nervously jerked up and down at a crazy pace. Impulsively, the dark-haired man reached out and put his hand on Misaki’s knee.

The skater gulped with some difficulty and stopped the motion to turn his head toward Saruhiko. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be nervous. You’re at the top of your pool,” he said a bit awkwardly, taking his hand away reluctantly. “Just watch out for the Russian contestant. He’s good with slides and grinds. If you pass right after him I suggest you go for higher grounds and lip tricks or aerials. It’ll look more spectacular. Leaves a better impression.”

Misaki’s eyes went large and round as he tilted his head slightly. It seemed to appease him a bit and he managed a smile. Saruhiko felt surprisingly happy – and then immediately felt lame for that. “Thanks. Thanks a lot, that’s actually pretty smart,” Misaki said gratefully.

“Don’t mention it. Also, don’t try the one where you grab the board just before landing. I’ve seen you losing your balance twice at the last moment yesterday - it wasn’t graceful, so it’d ruin the rest.”

“Ok.” Misaki nodded frenetically. He seemed frantic and surprised but… in a good way. Warmth spread through the blue clansman’s chest. _Seriously_? He wasn’t that far gone, was he?

“Thanks. That’s really helping, Saruhiko.”

And that gratefulness… It annoyed him as much as it made him feel good.

“I’m just pointing things out,” Saruhiko mumbled.

Misaki’s mouth twisted in a lopsided smile. “Yeah, of course.” Then his eyes went back to scanning the place. He looked focused again… and concerned. “So, the Russian, right?”

“Number 38, yes.”

Saruhiko jolted suddenly. Misaki’s hand had found his and rested on it, pressing his fingers just a bit with his own. “Saw my number?” he asked, his voice low and hesitant.

Saruhiko felt his heart do a little summersault. Yes, he had. He had. “Seven.”

Misaki had a tentative, expectant smile now.

“Well. Bring me luck, ok?”

“Mph,” Saruhiko rolled his eyes, trying not to appear too affected by this.

But he shifted his hand slightly to squeeze Misaki’s anyway.

**Chapter xiv.**

Yata was terribly nervous. It would be his turn in 3 minutes. After the Russian, actually. He thought about what Saruhiko had said to him and breathed a bit easier.

Saruhiko had been right. The current contestant never took off for real. He was skilled, for sure, but he attempted only two tricks on the ramps and they were the lowest. And, yeah… Yata couldn’t trigger any aura anymore, he couldn’t kick his board and fly the distance separating two buildings like it was nothing… But he was still confident and pretty skilled. And there was nothing he couldn’t do when he took some height.

“Number 7, Misaki Yata, representing Japan.” The voice in the speaker said some other things – actually, the guy warming the audience up was pretty pumped – but all Yata needed to get to his starter place was to hear his name. He knew where he was heading. They had three choices to take their mark: the bowl, the main entrance - but it was the plain ground - or… for the boldest, the highest quarter pipe. The redhead had chosen this one immediately, without even thinking. And, yes, it was high, 24 meters high, but he didn’t care, he wasn’t afraid. Nervous, yes, but it was the general atmosphere and the stake of the game that made him nervous.

That, and all the buzzing around them. Yata had tried to stick by Saruhiko as much as he could, but a lot of other contestants had come by to greet him and say cool and nice stuff to him. Still… Yata really only felt appeased near Saruhiko today. And not just because he wasn’t able to understand half of the things the foreign contestants said to him.

And there were girls too. Thousands of them. There were thousands of people on the bleachers. The place was gigantic. And at least a third of the audience were girls… _Screaming_ girls. They were screaming again when Yata appeared at the top of the Quarter Pipe. If he wasn’t mistaken, he had some success with them – something he’d have given to someone else gracefully.

For now, though, he didn’t focus on that. He tried to block out the sounds and focus on the ground at his feet. All the obstacles, the possibilities. There were so many things he could do… His heartbeat slowed down gradually as Yata went through his strategy again. And then he thought about what Saruhiko had said, and how he had held his hand for a short, quiet moment.

He was a big sap. A stupid, huge sap. He didn’t even know what had happened between them and what storm was coming – for it would come when all this was over, he was sure of it – but the redhead couldn’t focus on that at the moment.

“… Get set.”

“Fuck,” Yata let out, dropping his board at his feet and kicking it stylishly, bending toward the vertiginous fall… And the signal broke the buzzing in Yata’s ear. He pushed on the board and began his descent.

 

Five minutes. Five minutes that had been like five seconds or five years… Yata couldn’t tell, he was still too high on adrenaline. The crowd was cheering him so violently that the stadium seemed ready to fall apart. He felt fucking high, fucking good, fucking relieved.

What he had done just now was good. Better than the 77.7 points the Russian had earned.

“89.4! THAT MAKES THE BEST SCORE OF THIS POOL AND CLOSES THAT ROUND IN A SPECTACULAR WAY! SOME OF OUR CONTESTANTS MIGHT WANT TO WATCH NUMBER SEVEN CLOSELY!”

Yata’s smile was so big it could have torn his face apart. He kicked his board again and rushed to the bleachers. Saruhiko’s face was the first thing he saw. The skater was overwhelmed with joy and pride. And Saruhiko actually looked at him with a smirk he had long lost any hope of ever seeing again.

“Not bad,” he just said, handing his bottle over again when Yata joined him on the bleachers.

The stadium was buzzing, the second pool starting in ten minutes. But Yata didn’t care. He couldn’t care less about his surroundings. He was only listening to his instincts… And they pushed toward _him_. Thus, he just launched himself at Saruhiko without thinking, board sliding at their feet as he crushed him in a death-strong embrace.

It cut Saruhiko’s breath short, Yata heard it, and it made them even, because he had a hard time breathing himself. Though he didn’t push his luck and quickly released the other to grab a towel instead and wipe his sweaty nape and his face. It didn’t take away his furious blush, though.

Saruhiko seemed troubled for only one second before returning to his usual casual and nonchalant self. Then he drawled “Hurry. You’ve got an interview in ten minutes.”

Yata nodded, taking a long sip of fresh water. _Right_ , the interview, of course. At least it made the awkwardness fade away.

They headed to the path under the bleachers that led to a corridor with many rooms. They were arranged for press conferences and Yata was scheduled on 12 with two magazines. A Japanese one and an American one. All the questions were going to be in English and he was really grateful for Saruhiko’s presence when he thought about that.

On their way there they met a bunch of skaters who congratulated him with loud cries and heavy pats on the shoulder, boosting his confidence again. He also heard and understood something about a “ _party_ ” but didn’t really reply. They were already at the conference’s door.

Saruhiko seemed more serious than before. Actually, he seemed even a bit gloomy. Yata wondered why and tried to give him a smile. “Eh, it’s ok, you can speak very w—“

“I know that,” the dark-haired man cut him off a bit rudely, looking past him at the bunch of contestants who were disappearing in the distance. Then he opened the door and Yata had no choice but to follow him.

There were two men and a woman in the room waiting for them, sitting on chairs in front of the stage. Yata’s nervousness struck him a bit harder than he’d thought it would.

After the presentations, questions flew pretty quickly. Saruhiko was at ease with translating the whole thing. And he actually looked totally cool like that. The skater observed him moving and translating without the slightest inconvenience. _He’s not even pushing himself. He’s amazing._

And, of course, Yata got excited again, because all the attention was on him and the questions were actually pretty cool and, damn! He hadn’t realized so many people would actually read those magazines or that it was even real and…

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, abruptly. They had been at it for some time now, and there was no chance that familiar sound would go unnoticed by the skater. It might have been barely perceptible but the redhead caught it and jerked his head at the speed of light. The other was already translating a new question, trying to hide a frown. And to be quite honest, Yata was sure only he could tell that Saruhiko was pissed off. But there it was.

“You seemed to be pretty popular with the girls today. Is there a girlfriend waiting for you at home?” The dark-haired man repeated the question like a robot, sounding unquestionably annoyed to Yata’s ears.

And he couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled at the back of his throat and then it was out, clear and lasting long enough for Saruhiko to kick him in the shin under the table.

“Sorry.”

Now Saruhiko seemed outright displeased. And, actually, that thought was not only comforting… It made the redhead incredibly happy. What irony! The person who had kissed him the previous evening was now forced to ask him if he had a girlfriend. Yata tried to calm down as best he could, but now the attention of the journalists had clearly been caught and… “No, no girlfriend waiting for me. I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said, managing not to stammer on that word and to stop his hilarity. _Pretty sure he’d stab me if I called him my girlfriend, anyway!_

Saruhiko repeated it in English for the journalists but now it seemed obvious that they could guess the reason behind that answer. Yata found that he didn’t care. He knew they wouldn’t assume anything if he didn’t state things and… There was nothing to state, anyway.

So, really, if Saruhiko could return to his subtle self and not state the obvious of… what they were supposed to be… it would be perfect. _That mess, shit,_ Yata thought. It weighed slightly on his stomach because he had no idea what the fuck was happening with Saruhiko. But that kind of reaction actually made him hope weird things and… for the best, but yes… _It really is a mess_.

 

Still, he had no time to focus on that. After eating a quick sandwich in a corner and downing an energy drink, Yata was already back to waiting for the second and final part of the tournament to begin. The two best contestants of each of the six pools had to go for a second and final round. There were 12 of them competing for first place. Yata wanted to rank at least in the top three. It would be enough to get the promised contracts with the sponsors back in Japan, and that made him feel dizzy every time he thought about it. He’d start to earn a living by skating… That was crazy insane. And then all the competitions he’d get into, worldwide and all… He really felt light-headed. And maybe a bit scared. What would happen if he had to travel six, seven times a year abroad? All around the world. Wait, he hadn’t won yet. He had to beat at least nine excellent skaters, and if possible… eleven.

 _Stop dreaming! Focus_.

But what would happen if he and Saruhiko actually… could go somewhere together in the end? If they could be something… And he had to go?

 _Focus, dammit_.

“The Canadian skater.” Saruhiko’s voice made him snap out of his trance. “He’s unbeatable in aerials. You’re faster when you can take some height, but he’s a serious match in agility…”

Yata’s eyes drifted to the upper rows of the bleachers, where the subject of Saruhiko’s analysis sat. He had guessed that. The Canadian contestant was the real star of this competition. But he was also the titleholder, and had been for the past two years. He had won his pool with a score of 92.8. The second of the pool, the French contestant, wasn’t to be underestimated, though. He had scored 88.8. Yata shivered.

“Eh. It’s fine. You’re the second best so far, Misaki. You’re already the best skater in Japan,” Saruhiko drawled. But he wasn’t fooling Yata. He could tell he was nervous too.

Still, that statement made the redhead dizzy again. Best skater in Japan. Every time someone reminded him of how he had earned the right to compete here today, it just felt so unreal.

“Get used to it. Or are you going to keep spacing out like an idiot for years? Not sure if your fans will find it endearing forever.”

 _What?_ Yata couldn’t believe his ears, and he actually gaped at the other. Saruhiko seemed bitter. Even if he was forcing that stupid sideways grin... he _sounded_ bitter. 

The redhead wanted to say something, but the speaker suddenly started to vomit words all over again, inviting the contestants to line up near the main entrance. Everyone started on the ground this time.

“Saruhiko—“ Yata tried to talk, tried to say something… Anything. But Saruhiko sunk back onto his seat and composed another smile that seemed less fake but didn’t help to make things clearer.

“You win this,” he just said.

“No, wait,” Yata called again, lost and panicking slightly. _Not the moment, dammit_! The speaker enunciated the names clearly, Misaki in third. “I don’t fucking  understand! Saruhiko!”

For a moment, the swordsman closed his eyes and then looked up at him. His expression was unreadable. “I’ll manage,” he then said, in a low voice that Yata barely caught.

“Manage what?” he said desperately, knowing he had to leave right now.

“To make you understand.”

“Saruhiko.” Yata’s heart paused for a moment, the air leaving his lungs. He had heard this right, yeah? It meant what he thought, right?

“Misaki, get the fuck out.”

“Gotcha.” His blood pulsing in his veins twice as hard as when he had run for the first round, Yata turned away and rushed to join the others.

 

His board landed lightly on the ground despite the incredible speed and the complicated turn Yata had forced it into. The crowd exploded in frenzied acclamations.

 _93.3_. He wasn’t going to do better than the Canadian. He knew it. 93.3 points was a high score. And with 91.2, he wasn’t beating the French either. But it was ok. He pushed his board again, kicked it fast and with all the accuracy he could, and took off one last time, sliding over the railing for ten seconds before landing a perfect 360, which sounded simple like that but was almost impossible to trigger from a rail. He did it as easily as he breathed.

And his go was over. The stadium was on fire again, and so were his body and mind. But it was all over. Already. The adrenaline wouldn’t recede from his veins, though, and he waited patiently on the ground, under the lights, for his score to be announced.

His eyes were looking somewhere other than the giant board. He found Saruhiko, who had gotten up and was bent over the railing of the bleachers, his expression unreadable - but his body spoke for him. _He’s so into it_. Yata felt as if his heart was ready to explode.

Then the LEDs flashed the numbers brightly on the board, and the public went berserk. Yata turned to see his score. His heart made a violent summersault.

_91.9_

He couldn’t help it. He had jumped in the air, his fist brandished, before he knew it. The redhead wanted to explode, to run… Fuck! He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs.

Instead, he tried to stay as calm as possible, his whole body buzzing nonetheless and he returned to the bleachers in earnest. The vanguard needed to go upstairs and find Saruhiko as soon as possible - he wanted to celebrate… _Fuck!_

He couldn’t believe it! Second for now, and the four last contestants weren’t real threats at all. It was a fucking dream…

And Saruhiko rushing down the bleachers in earnest was a dream too, right?

But no. When Yata reached the limits of the competition ground, Saruhiko had made it to the exit too and had stopped in his tracks abruptly… _That fucker just lost his cool, huh?_ the skater realized, seeing how Saruhiko looked so clearly displeased with himself and adorably flushed in the face.

And now of all times, as Yata stopped his board and came to a halt before his former best-friend, he felt the urge to kiss Saruhiko, as if the world was ready to end.

They didn’t move though, breathing the same air but unable to reach for the other, overwhelmed and feeling terribly awkward. Until Saruhiko broke the silence, drawling with a grin plastered on his smug face, “Was it too much to ask for a neat 92?”

Yata blinked the tears in his eyes away. He couldn’t respond to that - he just let himself be crushed by the consuming joy.

 

 

 

**Chapter xv.**

Saruhiko didn’t know what to do with that day. With all the information, the emotions. He just knew for sure that, right now, he was totally pissed off, which was dangerously killing the mood.

He had spent the whole day balancing between anxiety, excitement and dread…

Misaki had finished second - he was going to sign a lot of contracts for sponsors and live a dream life… Skating and being paid for that. Saruhiko knew Misaki - if he had realized it already - was probably the happiest person known to mankind at the moment. And he was going to travel a lot… That was another thing Saruhiko had started to consider when he was sitting on the bleachers all alone.

They didn’t know where they were going, _if_ they actually were going somewhere, and now _that_ would most definitely factor into that huge mess… And Saruhiko could already pinpoint the major headache and the bother that it’d be to _feel_ things and stuff, and… emotions and… No, seriously, it was stressful as hell. And as if that wasn’t enough, a bunch of loud idiots had dragged them to a club.

A fucking club!

After the end of the competition, the contestants had been reunited with their representatives and the organizers had explained that a huge party was being thrown in a Tampa club and a limo would actually come and pick them up at their hotel a bit later. They had barely had the time to return there in the first place, and then Misaki had taken a shower, of course… Following that, it was already time to eat and…

Shit, that dinner had been awkward. They had eaten in the room again and… It really felt tense. The car was supposed to pick them up twenty minutes later and it was as if they’d both silently agreed that it was pointless to talk now if they were going to be cut off in the middle of it.

Saruhiko really didn’t want to go to that stupid club in the first place. He hated that kind of place. Misaki didn’t like them either, but it would have been stupid not to go when all of the sponsors would be there. And Misaki couldn’t manage alone…

So here they were, sitting on a couch in a club, surrounded by skaters, hot girls and other young people here to party all night. Except, really, the sponsors weren’t there to recruit anyone, just throwing cards at the skaters’ representatives when they were interested in the athlete… And now Saruhiko could literally start a fucking collection, his pockets full of them.

A lot of people tried to talk to them, though, and then only to Misaki when Saruhiko’s usual self _and_ bad mood struck… except he still had to be a part of the conversations anyway. And what a bother! Translating such petty and ridiculous things, really!

A giant bottle of champagne sat on the round low table before them and they all had a glass of it in hand, but Saruhiko had barely touched his. Misaki had drank one already but wasn’t touching the second he held.

This was seriously annoying. Worse than that. Locked into his silence, Saruhiko had even more time to think about all the bad sides of what had happened and what was coming. He was starting to let himself think that a part of him regretted the whole week… all of it. Coming here in the first place, and then taking that path… Because now, everything was about to be shattered again, and the sheer idea of it was suffocating him.

“Are you going to come back here?” a girl giggled in the most high-pitched and insufferable voice ever, directly above Saruhiko, and it suddenly brought him back to that loud and dark club.

Next to him, Misaki was trying to melt into the couch to avoid meeting the huge pair of boobs the girl was throwing into his face, and Saruhiko realized he had spaced out too long. Misaki was obviously feeling uncomfortable, and even trying to get away. _This is fucking stupid_.

There was that too. The girls. The… Any human being who looked at Misaki twice would find him attractive and cute, or sexy, because that idiot was all that and it irked Saruhiko so much at the moment.

And he was going to be famous. A famous athlete. That was enough to draw in thousands of groupies per day… The swordsman remembered the interview. How fucking ironic!

 _He_ had been the one kissing Misaki! He had won this right, somehow… And he still wasn’t sure how but it was _his_ right. And yet, Saruhiko had been sitting there, asking Misaki if he had a girlfriend. At that point, he had realized that he wanted to be the person Misaki would refer to when asked who mattered to him the most. And that was also when he had started to think it was a bad idea… That couldn’t possibly work. He couldn’t keep Misaki for himself when so many possibilities and opportunities were offered to the redhead. Most of them would be a hundred times better than Saruhiko, for sure.

“No. He’s not,” Saruhiko hammered back dryly, loud enough so she could hear it. He didn’t bother to sound casual - he was outright aggressive, but he couldn’t help that. Not now.

Misaki turned toward him, shifting in the couch, almost over him, to escape the girl who straightened back up anyway and threw Saruhiko a disappointed and disgusted look. _Go away_. And she was actually gone.

Except they didn’t get to enjoy the reprieve in the slightest. A bunch of other skaters joined them at that exact moment, sitting around them and… between them?

Saruhiko regretted not having brought his knives, and surprised himself with his sudden urge towards murder. He needed to cool down, because the guy who had taken a seat between them obviously had no chill.

He really was suffocating now…

Then the most idiotic conversation started, in a mixture of at least five different languages, and about topics so mundane and lame that Saruhiko wanted to throw up. Or was it his nerves that made him so ill? He had no idea, but he needed to get away.

The only problem was Misaki. Misaki, and another girl now sitting to his left. Saruhiko curled his hand hard around his glass of Champagne, and decided to put it back on the table to avoid a stupid accident. The redhead wasn’t even looking at him anymore. He was stuttering nonsense at the girl.

 _Fuck this_. All of this.

Painful minutes passed before he made his decision. Grabbing a napkin, he plunged a hand under the table and fumbled with the bags that had been left there by different clients of the club. He retrieved a pen in no time and wrote down the hotel address and Misaki’s name on the napkin. Misaki was now trying to have a conversation with the guy that sat between them and two other contestants. The Russian one was there, speaking with animation. They were all laughing and having the time of their life. Everywhere around Saruhiko. And the loud techno music hardly covered their voices, shrieks and laughter.

He felt gross and sick.

For a second, he tried to overhear the conversation at his left. The guy next to him spoke English. And what he was saying made the dark-haired man lose any hope in humanity. He was actually trying to make Misaki understand how a girl dancing nearby had a huge chest and was clearly into him and, seriously, it was enough. Saruhiko had had enough.

Pushing the napkin on the surface of the table toward Misaki, he slid over the couch and snuck away, drowning in a circle of people dancing there.

If the other moron continued talking so loudly and expressively, Misaki wouldn’t notice Saruhiko was gone for a long time. And it was for the best. He never should have come here.

Feeling like he was going to throw up at any time, Saruhiko fought his way out of the club, pushing away the people that got too close. They were all so happy, partying carelessly, sweating like the disgusting human beings they were…

Unfortunately, Misaki was going to become part of this, and there wouldn’t be much place for Saruhiko. Except he knew what it felt like to wait for the other to notice you already. He knew what it was like to try hard to merge into a group of people with whom there was nothing he could share… He couldn’t do this all over again. Even for Misaki.

If Saruhiko had learned anything over the years, it was that. As important as Misaki could be in his life, never again would Saruhiko dive into that unhealthy spiral where he was too obsessed and needy and dependent on the other to keep himself sane. He knew that he was a possessive being and that he was never going to get rid of the jealousy… Those flaws were parts of him, but Saruhiko had worked on them and soothed them and understood many things since the age when he’d turned poisonous and resentful for stupid reasons.

Misaki would always be the center of his interest, no matter how hard he was going to fight it. They were meant to be. But there was a limit to what a person should do to get the other’s attention and interest…

And maybe that bitter realization crushed his heart painfully, but Saruhiko could accept it. He would never force himself to be a part of something he hated for someone else. Not even for the most precious person in his life. That wouldn’t do any good, either to him or Misaki.

Fighting back the burning sensation in his eyes, Saruhiko stepped out of the club and found that he couldn’t breathe any easier outside. He wondered if he could ever breathe evenly again one day.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter xvi.**

Yata forced another laugh out and sunk into the couch. Damn, this was more annoying than he had thought it’d be. It didn’t help that this guy had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and rudely sat his ass between him and Saruhiko. Then the redhead had been dragged into conversations he didn’t understand for the most part, and it was a real pain…

He wanted to return to the hotel with Saruhiko. Actually, even if he had understood English well enough, his mind would have been too preoccupied to focus on the conversations. He needed to talk with Saruhiko. They hadn’t talked during dinner and what the swordsman had said stayed in his brain and wouldn’t leave. He wanted to make him understand… That’s what he had clearly stated.

That had Yata shuddering just at the thought. Because he had thought about it ever since he had come down from his high… Over and over. He didn’t care if he was going to travel a lot more now. He wanted to be something with Saruhiko. He wanted to try. He was determined to work in that direction.

Now Yata was sure of it. Saruhiko could be a part of his life in a good way again. In a better way, even. They could, he felt it. They’d have to work, to talk, to understand some things but it was possible. And he _wanted_ it.

Except that when he turned to search for Saruhiko, and for some support when the guy next to him started to insist that Yata go and talk to a busty girl on the dancefloor… Saruhiko was nowhere to be seen.

A cold shiver ran down the skater’s spine. Had he gone to the bathroom? Why had he left without saying a thing? A bad feeling crept along his skin, his stomach churning with anxiety. This wasn’t good.

Yata dropped his gaze to the table, and what he saw there made him snap. A napkin! With his name on it. He immediately recognized the hand writing too. Neat, with the letters slightly too close to each other… Saruhiko’s handwriting. And with his name followed the name of their hotel and, obviously, its address.

The redhead understood immediately what it meant. Saruhiko had left. And how lame could Yata be, that he hadn’t even noticed! A burst of rage flared inside him at the thought. He got up at the speed of light, outright angry with himself and with Saruhiko for dumping him like that.

He had sensed over the past two hours that Saruhiko hated being here. But he didn’t really like it either and wanted to go back with him, actually. Except that Yata should have known better. The swordsman hadn’t changed that stupid habit of his either, and had gone off to sulk alone, running away from whatever bugged his sorry ass.

Yata was aware some of the people in the club trying to hold him back when he made his way out, but he gently pushed them aside. He had already got all the email addresses and numbers he needed to stay in touch with the few he’d actually had some interests in common with and who were going to attend the same competitions as him, but… that was it.

Now the priority was to find Saruhiko. And it was going to be terribly difficult if that idiot had gone for a walk in the middle of the night. “Fucker!” Yata cringed, praying that Saruhiko had just left a few minutes ago…

Because he had not a single idea where the other could have ran off to. To their hotel? Not if he needed some space. To the beach? Saruhiko hated the beach, the sand… _Yeah! What is it that he doesn’t dislike? Fussy prick!_ Yata was actually totally angry now.

Maybe he should just hail a taxi, return to the hotel and wait for Saruhiko there? No. That’d be even worse… And, dammit, he hated not being able to contact him! He hadn’t bothered paying for any extras on his phone bill since he could send emails to Kusanagi and the others. He wasn’t supposed to make any calls over the week and now that he needed him, Saruhiko had disappeared.

The skater turned around the corner street, starting to feel the panic raising inside him. What if something happened? He was totally going to kill him if Saruhiko came back alive…

He was so mad he actually imagined seeing him crossing the road down the street. But then… Yata blinked and looked at the bright sign on the building down that street… It was a giant blue @. A fucking Internet café… So, that meant… He gave a better look at the frame down the road and, yes, it was him! It was Saruhiko! Walking fast and straight to the café, hands tucked in his pockets…

Yata broke into a run on the spot.

It took him less than twenty seconds to reach the swordsman, running like a mad man and crossing the road, without even looking if it was safe to do so.

He didn’t care. He was going to catch up to this moron and kick his ass…

The car that arrived at a reasonable speed on his right didn’t think so, though. The driver honked at the last moment, swerving just in time to avoid Yata.

Time seemed to stop, as well as Yata’s heart and breath. He went stiff just a meter away from the sidewalk, feeling the swoop of air on his back a long time after the car had gone, paralyzed by fear.

That had the advantage of catching Saruhiko’s attention, at least. The blue clansman had turned on his heels at the honking, witnessed the whole scene, and was now frozen in place, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. Their eyes locked like that for a moment in the total silence of the street.

Then they snapped.

“ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?” they both yelled at the exact same moment and with the same angry tone.

Another pair of lights slid over Yata’s body as a new car approached and Saruhiko learned how to move again, stepping forward to actually yank the skater forcefully by his tank top. He pulled him hard enough for them to collide and it did weird things inside Yata but he was still determined to make a point. Once he regained his balance, he let it all out.

“Why did you leave? Are you a total i—“

“Don’t call me an idiot when you almost got crushed by a fucking car, Misaki, because I swear you’ll regret it,” Saruhiko hissed, absolutely furious.

“You abandoned me! What d’you think I was supposed to do? Stay put all night wondering if you were all right? You fucking scared me! Why didn’t you tell me?” Yata countered, just as furious.

Saruhiko clicked his tongue impatiently, obviously holding back.

“You were way too occupied and clearly didn’t need me there. You were doing just fine!”

Yata let out an angry exclamation. Here they were! _Of course that monkey would think that way!_

“I fucking needed you!” he yelled, shoving Saruhiko in the chest just hard enough to make a point. “I wasn’t occupied! I needed you! And not to translate some shit! It’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? I _need_ you!”

That pushed Saruhiko to silence for a moment, and seeing his expression, it had caught him off guard, too. Good. Now Yata was going to spill what he needed to get out! Even if he had planned to say those things differently. In their room maybe, when they were both relaxed and _who the fuck am I kidding_! It wasn’t going to happen that way ever! Not with them!

“Be with me!” Yata blurted, catching Saruhiko’s sleeves in his hands with a determined look. “I’ve thought about this all day long… Saruhiko… I want to be with you, and you’re going to make a fucking effort right now! I know you—what you said earlier? You wanted to make me understand! Then do it!”

Saruhiko’s expression changed at that. In a way that Yata didn’t expect and didn’t like either… He looked sad, all of a sudden. Anger was still lingering there, but… yeah, he had that rueful, downcast expression that made the redhead’s chest tighten painfully.

“Misaki… It’s pointless. Ok? It’s not going to work…”

Yata’s hand jolted and he restrained himself from doing the dumbest thing possible… Namely, slapping Saruhiko across the face. But—

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE! What are you saying? Are you fucking stupid? Why did you decide that? Because I won? It’s not gonna change anything!” he blurted the word out instead of _acting_ for once, and it still was impulsive, but also a lot more productive than just throwing some punches. “And don’t tell me it’s because we fucked up before either! Because it was _before_ and I don’t fucking care! You’re always so eager to say it’s not the same as before! Then fine! ACT ON IT, idiot! We’ve changed, it’s behind us!”

Saruhiko tried to tear free from Yata’s grasp. And no way in hell. He shook him instead, his fingers digging harder and deeper into the material of the purple hoodie. He wasn’t losing this. He had won already today… And Yata was coming out of this with another victory. Saruhiko wasn’t going anywhere, not without him.

“Please Misaki… You don’t even—you don’t know what it’s going to be either. You didn’t _think_ it through! These past days! It meant—“

“Don’t you dare say _nothing_ ,” Yata cut him off, feeling a lump forming in his throat.

“No. No! But it was different, we’re not home… But when we go back… How do you know you really want that? When you’re home and everything every day reminds you of what we used to be…” Saruhiko really looked pained now and it hurt the redhead physically too, to hear him voice those feelings.

Damn, why had he fallen for such a complicated idiot!

“We used to be a team, Saruhiko. The best team ever. It worked! It fucked up only because we were young and fucking lost! I was fucking lost… I lost myself over and over again… You weren’t helping, by the way,” the redhead’s voice broke off but he went on. He had to. “We’ve been there, and we’ve learned. We’re better. And we can get even better… Together.”

“I hurt you. So many times! I was hurt too! You want to make me believe that you want that? To be with a guy who was…” The dark-haired man’s hands balled into fists and he looked away. His eyes were shining. It was terrible to realize how broken they were. But they could fix it. Yata fought back the tears in his own eyes. _I want him_. _I don’t care - if it’s us, it’s fine. I just want him._

He let go of the sleeves he held so tight his knuckles were white and pulled Saruhiko against him. He circled the lanky body with his arms and rested his head against his chest, his nose colliding with the patch of skin above Saruhiko’s collarbone. _That place, huh?_

Saruhiko needed to understand. And he needed Saruhiko. No matter what. He was ready for anything.

“I want to! I want to try! For fuck’s sake, why is it so hard for you to let go and try? I’m sure we can manage! It’s gonna be a mess and I’m sure we’re not done kicking each other’s asses but it’s also going to be the… the most amazing thing in my life. Saruhiko, let us try.”

Yata could feel Saruhiko’s heartbeat and even if the young man tried to hold back, stiff in the redhead’s arms, _that_ didn’t lie. The pulsating sound, wilder and wilder…

“I don’t even know if it’s right!” Saruhiko dropped, desperate. “Look what happened before! I didn’t leave for no reason at the club! I was starting to—I couldn’t even breathe in there! I hate it, ok? I fucking hated it, it’s not me! I don’t want to pretend that it is, even for you! Look where it led us the last time? I don’t want a fucking repeat!”

That declaration had a strange effect on Yata. He felt something weird… Relief? They were actually on the same page. They agreed on this, which would have been impossible even a year ago. Saruhiko had been so broken before, but he could heal, by himself, if he was willing to change his actions. And the redhead wanted to help him mend what was still left broken. And he needed the same treatment.

“I don’t want a repeat either! Saruhiko, dammit! I’m—I’m actually happy to know you don’t want to make things that way again. That was fucking insane and rotten and…”

“Unhealthy,” the swordsman croaked, shivering in his arms.

“Yes, that. And, well… We’re fucking messed-up enough already, ok? So I wouldn’t want you to pretend you like it! That club, these things. That fucking stupid bar yesterday… The fact is… I didn’t like any of it either! All I wanted was to go back with you and talk and… I wanted you to talk to me! I want this! Saruhiko I—I… I want _you_!”

He had said it! Shit. Vomited it, just like the rest, but it was out at least. But it didn’t work its magic like any love declaration would have. Actually, suddenly Saruhiko tried to get free from the embrace again.

“You can’t say that now!” he hissed. “It’s easy for you to want me but if I say it back then it’s—you’re going to leave! And I can’t hold you back! I’d never hold you back because it’d be unfair! You’re meant to do that, to be here, to—“

That made Yata snap. Enough!

“I’m meant to be with YOU, you huge prick!” he yelled, pushing the taller one away but holding him still to be sure he wouldn’t run away.

It was fortunate that the streets were empty because that had been way too loud. Even to Yata’s own ears. And Saruhiko grimaced. “Oh my god! You still can’t understand that, right? You said it: it wasn’t good how we did things before… But now we can manage to have other things in our lives and still be together! I don’t care if I’m gone sometimes during the year. It’ll be for, what, three days? Maybe a week? Every once in a while, and so what? Just because I’m away doesn’t mean I can’t be with you!”

God, he was so angry, and burning! And he wanted Saruhiko to understand already and to accept him!

“Misaki…”

No!

“I spent four years away from you,” the redhead hammered, desperate to let it all out. “Four fucking years. And fucking guess what? You were still there, no matter what!” His left hand gripped Saruhiko’s roughly and brought it to his own heart. It was sappy and ridiculous but… _Get it already!_ “And no matter how hard I tried to fight back, and god knows how much I hated what you had done, and I couldn’t understand, and I tried to forget about you! But you were there! You still are! And… And I know I was there too, somehow.” This time Yata pressed an angry finger against Saruhiko’s chest, where his own heart pulsed frenetically. “You’ve been here since we were fucking twelve, Saruhiko, so… Don’t. Leave. Again!”

Damn, a searing droplet ran down his cheek. Yata couldn’t hold back - he was so worked up now… He looked up, desperate. And his breath hitched. Saruhiko was biting his lip hard. So hard he looked like he was at risk of making them bleed. The next silence lasted so long, it started to kill Yata slowly. But Saruhiko found enough courage to break it and the redhead felt like living again.

“You were too. There. I just—I just didn’t understand that I could show it in other ways. I didn’t even understand myself. I was so messed up and resentful… That guy turned me into something rotten, Misaki. And I’m still trying to figure out how to change the worst parts of myself. I’m still not sure about a lot of things. And all the constancy I ever had in life… It was you. Misaki.”

The hands that grabbed Yata’s shoulders were trembling and pressing too hard. But fuck… He couldn’t care less. He couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t need that, actually. What he needed, he had heard just now, right? He was a constancy in Saruhiko’s life. Yata would keep that deserved title and cling onto that. He just needed to show this stubborn idiot that he wasn’t the only one at fault. If they both had flaws, they were even. And they could aim for the same thing, then.

“Don’t take all the fucking credit, monkey! You’re not the only one responsible for this! I was fucking blind. I—I know I’m stupid, but back then… I was the biggest idiot in the universe, and I just wouldn’t understand any other way of seeing things than mine, and if things didn’t fit with it then… Fuck, I wish I was less of an idiot and you could actually _talk_ back then!”

Drained, the skater let his forehead bump against Saruhiko’s chest and he counted it as a victory that the other didn’t push him away. He panted slightly, just like Saruhiko. And the silence washed over them for a good minute.

“Mph… Well if you ask me, I think I talked plenty, just now,” the dark-haired man mumbled eventually, his hands gliding along Yata’s arms to stay near his wrists. It had him chuckling like the simple idiot he was. That was true. And if he wasn’t mistaking it… there was hope, now.

Yata tilted his head up, looking straight at the other, his body catching on fire when the piercing blue eyes reflected back his determination.

“Yeah… I mean… No. Saruhiko, I still need you to say something else. I told you, I don’t care if I’ll have to change some things in my life from now on. I want you in it. I want to be with you. And I need to know if it’s ok with you. And if you want that too.”

It was a bit bold, but who cared? Not him. If they didn’t say it now, it’d never happen. He wasn’t risking it. It was worthy, even… Seeing Saruhiko roll his eyes hard and avert his gaze and… blush noticeably.

“Tsk! Misaki, really! Isn’t it obvious by now?” he muttered again, embarrassed like never before. And it was a sight so rare, Yata felt a warm bubble pop in his chest. _I want this guy_.

“Please… Saruhiko, just… You said you’d put in some effort.” He needed to coax him right there…

“You’re just being a prick!” Saruhiko drawled impatiently, cornered and…

“Look who’s talking!” Yata stepped forward, their bodies pressed against each other now, and it was hard to ignore the twist in his guts, the flutter in his stomach. _Say it_.

“FINE!” Saruhiko exclaimed. Yata held his breath. “I fucking want to be with you too!”

Yata didn’t realize it on the spot, and would only think about it way later, but at this particular moment… he was sure he had been the happiest man on earth. For now, he’d just pull on Saruhiko’s collar roughly. He needed him. He needed that fussy, disturbed and messed-up guy; a guy barely able to confess, and looking extremely annoyed by the sheer idea of expressing feelings. But Yata wouldn’t have it any other way.

For now, the redhead actually wanted something more… He had taken a liking to it… And had found out that it was one of his new favorite things in life… So he kissed the young man with all the passion that Yata held only for Saruhiko.

 

 

**Chapter xvii.**

It must have been one of the very first time in his life that Saruhiko made the choice to stick with the inevitable struggle instead of running away toward safer waters.  He wasn’t going to be in control all the time, he wasn’t going to be able to hide… It was going to be very complicated, and there were a lot of flaws in that plan, and it wouldn’t be easy, and sometimes he knew he’d have a hard time breathing… But that wasn’t new.

Saruhiko already had a hard time breathing whenever he saw Misaki, even more so over these past few days. They both had flaws, and they were stamped as _complicated_ from the start. Even before, when it had seemed so easy before they’d broken apart… But he wanted that in his life too.

Misaki was worth all of this, the struggle, the worrying, the apprehension… He wanted to be beside him, no matter what trials they’d have to face… They had already crossed a lifetime of hurtful experiences; they could also try to work for the best. They were a team - they were meant to be that way. _Dysfunctional_ had been a word to qualify their route at some point, but Saruhiko had mastered the art of hacking and fixing programs and codes. He could try to work on their stupid algorithm too, and for once Misaki was going to be able to help.

He had showed enough determination and… made sense. Come to think of it, everything he had said had been pleasantly surprising and a relief to hear. _All 100 points answers_ , Saruhiko had even thought. Before he noticed how much he was already aware of all that. He just fought it back because that was how he was… And maybe the only real answer wasn’t these 100 points hits. Maybe Misaki was the answer himself.

Saruhiko felt ridiculous for allowing himself to think that way, all of a sudden. He already hated it. Already hated being into this idiot so much. Hated loving it so much. And he grinned into the sloppy kiss they shared.

Because all of that had a pleasant bonus too. One that made him weak in the knees… Weak under a touch, under _his_ touch… But yes, if he got to kiss and have Misaki in that way too… Then it was more than worthy.

“Cross the fucking road again without looking and I’ll stab you,” he mumbled after a moment, when they broke apart from that tentative kiss.

“Man, this is gonna be interesting!” Misaki laughed against his neck, hugging him tighter.

Yes… Definitely more than worthy.

 

They made it back to the hotel not long after that. They walked rather than taking a cab, side by side, barely saying a word.

Actually, Saruhiko felt as though he had talked enough for a life time. Not that it wasn’t nice, when it had led them to this point… But it was still a bother, and sooner or later, Misaki would have to pay for that. Actual words, actually voicing feelings. Only he could make the blue clansman do such irritating things.

It was pretty late at night when they arrived, but it wasn’t a problem. Their flight was scheduled on Saturday evening – and quite late – so they had the day to rest. They could sleep in. They could do a lot of things.

When they arrived at the hotel, though, they didn’t get to spend any quality time together or do any stupid thing they were supposed to do now that they were… _together_.

It was just past noon in Japan and Misaki was fidgeting, saying how much he wanted to tell the others about the competition… Couldn’t wait for the morning to come…

Saruhiko indulged him and let him use his Skype application. They sent a mail to Kusanagi first, who confirmed that they were actually already all in the bar waiting for Misaki to call and tell them his results.

“I was supposed to call them at eight. Why are they all there already?” the redhead breathed out, nervous again.

“They had nothing better to do with their worthless li—“ Saruhiko cut short the teasing. Even if he didn’t mean that _entirely_ , maybe it wasn’t wise. “I don’t know. Maybe they care for you?”

“Mmh.” Misaki nodded, clicking on the call button.

They were both sitting on the couch, and the redhead had been adamant: Saruhiko had to sit with him while he called them. No discussion possible.

After two ringtones, the screen went black for a second and then their eyebrows raised in the same comical expression as they looked at the live video displayed in front of them.

The bar was crowded. Saruhiko recognized the usual core of HOMRA, those guys, Anna, Kusanagi but… “C—Captain?” he stammered, caught off guard.

Awashima was there too, along with some of his coworkers.

“Yata-kun! Fushimi-kun! What a pleasure!”

“Hi, Yata-chan.”

“Misaki! Are you ok?”

The greetings burst out from every corner of the room, everyone trying to push through the others to look at the screen which had probably been installed behind the bar. Only Anna had a place on a stool at the counter that no one tried to annex. And it lasted for a good thirty seconds, during which they stayed in place, a bit taken aback, until Awashima frowned and leaned toward the screen with a suspicious gaze.

“Fushimi. What’s on your face?” she asked briskly.

Oh. Next to him, Misaki tensed, and he bit back a mocking grin. _Go ahead, Misaki, explain._

“Fushimi-san, you got into trouble there?” Domyoji asked, loudly and excitedly.

Anna tilted her head slightly and looked at them cautiously. “They fought,” she stated quietly.

Everyone went silent for a second, and Misaki literally face-palmed next to him, hiding behind his hand and groaning. Then there was movement in the bar and Bandou chuckled and high-fived another guy next to him. “Told you it wasn’t going to work out. Land your money already!” _What_? Saruhiko didn’t know what to say. He was at a loss for words when Anna continued, as serene as ever, “It’s alright. They are happy now.”

How embarrassing was that? Saruhiko was better at hiding his emotions, but damn, it was hard not to imitate Misaki and hide behind his hands. But, thankfully, he had something to focus on… The comments, loud ones, as Bandou was being mocked, along with some “I knew it!”s and “Yes!”s coming from different corners. _What even…_

Saruhiko spared a quick glance for the skater. The bits of skin showing were tainted crimson red… Thanks to Anna and her clairvoyance. And for pointing it out in front of everyone. But seriously, had he heard right? Had those morons placed bets on their heads?

Fortunately, Kusanagi had never been big on embarrassing the two of them. Even when they were in HOMRA together. Totsuka was annoying, and the Red King didn’t acknowledge them much… Kusanagi was the only one trying to give them a little space. And he was claiming back the calm again now. Saruhiko was forced to listen too, but he was boiling internally.

“So, Yata! How long are you going to keep the information from us? I think everyone here wants to know,” he said, with that nonchalant and natural cool tone that he managed to keep up even in the worst situations.

At least it made Misaki uncover his face. He was still very red but his amber eyes sparkled with intensity and excitement. Of course he’d be eager to tell them.

“It wasn’t bad,” he started tentatively. “Actually, I made a good score!” he added, bumping his chest with a closed fist, as if to brag.

Saruhiko rolled his eyes hard.

“Tell us!”

“Yeah, spill it out!”

“Come on, Yata-san!”

Misaki grinned wide. He was enjoying himself way too much. And this was going to last forever… Saruhiko sank into the couch and stretched his legs. “Actually he finished…” he began slowly.

The next second, Misaki bolted on the couch and punched him in the shoulder with a ferocious look. Saruhiko smirked. And blocked the stupid comments coming from the laptop at that sudden interaction.

“I didn’t win,” Misaki said then, and he turned back to face the camera. “But… I was second?” the redhead mumbled tentatively.

For a moment, there was a silence and no one seemed to move in the bar. They both tensed a bit, looking for reactions.

“Second… Of all the contestants?” Kusanagi repeated slowly.

Misaki nodded, sheepish. And then the bar exploded in cheers and cries and congratulations so loud and noisy that Saruhiko slammed his hand on the keyboard by reflex to lower the sound. But he didn’t cut it entirely… Next to him, Misaki was literally glowing. With both embarrassment and pride.

Everyone was saying nice things and spouting praises and the like, and he replied sheepishly but with pride, and… _Can this call be over already_?

Obviously, that wasn’t going to be the case and the discussion went on for ten good minutes, long and boring to Saruhiko, who spent the whole time looking at Misaki’s face, observing his expressions. That held his interest long enough that he was taken aback when Munakata’s voice came clearly to his ears…

Seemed like the excitement had receded enough. Misaki was obviously done talking with the others for now and… he was staring at the screen with huge, confused eyes.

“Fushimi-kun. Was the suite comfortable enough for the both of you?” was what the Captain had asked flippantly.

_What?_

That was impossible. Saruhiko’s eyes narrowed into slits. He had _never_ said anything about that problem to anyone - it seemed irrelevant to point it out. It was… “How do you—“ he started, but Kusanagi cut him off.

“Sorry, Fushimi, Yata, network connection is being silly. Call us back in the morning, ok? We’re very proud of you, Yata!”

And with that, everyone waved at the camera and the screen was black once again, back to the software front page. Saruhiko was frozen. So worked-up… So… Dammit, that stupid superior and his antics, it was so _annoying, enraging_!

“He did it.”

“He did what?”

Saruhiko turned to glare at Misaki and his confused expression. And then, just like that, the boiling anger receded. God, the dark-haired man’s boss was a really strange creature but… “I guess that’s not really an issue anymore,” Saruhiko breathed out, and shut the laptop.

“What are you talking about?” the redhead asked, clearly pissed at the fact that he didn’t understand what was happening.

“Nothing, Misaki. They hung up, anyway.” The realization dawned on him pleasantly as he savored the words. So… Now they wouldn’t be bothered anymore, right? They had plenty of time. And they were _alone_.

And it made him a bit nervous, _maybe_. Because he could plan to watch a movie and have dinner without fighting with Misaki, and even if it required some effort, that wasn’t big - that wasn’t new… But now, even the simplest activity could be interrupted by things such as… Kissing? Uh… Was it going to be natural? Even if Saruhiko wanted badly to do these things … Was it ok to do so? Was it correct?

Obviously, Misaki didn’t over-think it like him. Or he didn’t show it, if he did. During the time the swordsman was frying his brain, it seemed like the redhead had made up his mind, realizing as well as he had that they were on their own now… And he used that advantage to tackle Saruhiko on the couch, taking his breath away in the process. The taller one gasped and the gasp was immediately swallowed by a clumsy kiss.

Needy lips pressed against Saruhiko’s, and Misaki shifted to fit between the dark-haired man’s legs. Saruhiko welcomed him without thinking, already liking the contact way too much. He could get used to that. But then the redhead did something new… A little nip on Saruhiko’s lower lip triggered some instinct he didn’t know he had and he parted his lips, breathing out a blissful sigh as Misaki’s tongue shyly invaded his mouth and came to caress his own.

New things could be very good, and if everything was going to be as good as this… Then Saruhiko was up for trying a lot of them.

He moaned slightly into the kiss and tangled a hand into the red strands of hair. They needed a good cut, though they were as soft as he remembered.

“Saruhiko,” Misaki whispered against his lips when he tore free from that first deep... thing. There was a little bit of drool on his lips as well as just under them, and he looked disheveled. The sight was so intense and beautiful it took the swordsman’s breath away.

“Enough talk,” Saruhiko answered in despair, his head lolling back helplessly as he closed his eyes. “Please.”

Misaki poked him in the chest, huffing a laugh or something. “It’s not talking, Saruhiko. It’s—I mean I wanted to try something. But ok, no talking,” he shrugged, and crawled atop of him to steal another quick kiss.

He knew how to rile him up already, of course. As expected from the guy who could always figure him out. Saruhiko pushed him back with a scowl. “Spill it out.”

“But you said…”

Saruhiko’s long-suffering gaze silenced him, and Misaki’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “All right. I was just thinking… It’d be a waste to have a Jacuzzi and not use it.”

The swordsman arched an eyebrow. He didn’t expect that, but then, his face broke into a wide grin. “Look at you, already taking on extravagant habits! Coming to appreciate luxury stuff already…”

“Well, the champagne wasn’t bad, you know… I can get used to it if I _must_.” Misaki faked a theatrical sigh.

“You’re a little shit,” Saruhiko stated, pushing them back up into a sitting position.

The redhead shrugged again. “Do you think we can order some more in the middle of the night?” he asked, with obvious mockery. And then his face twisted with genuine excitement. It was an adorable expression. “Oh no. Shit, Saru! D’you think we can order some pizzas for real?”

At that, Saruhiko barked a laugh and pulled him down again. To hell with the embarrassment and the endless complications… _This_ was worth a lifetime of pain.

 

 

 

**Chapter xviii. – Epilogue.**

Yata wondered if the airline had a sick sense of humor or something. The film playing at the moment was a shitty love story, and even though he wasn’t listening to it, he could still see the woman and the man in that airplane, obviously dwelling over a past affair and trying to figure out if they could save what remained to start again and…

He looked at his side. Saruhiko was sleeping. Or was pretending to and trying to relax, because there was no way that fussy guy was actually _sleeping_ somewhere other than a bed. The redhead felt the sated smile playing with the edge of his mouth and allowed himself a contented sigh.

They were going home. Together. And even though he couldn’t stop repeating that to himself, it still felt kinda awesome. _Amazing._

Looking back on the past year, he had definitely lost a lot of precious things in his life. Things that were a part of him, people who were important to him… And it had been hard. Crushing. Losing his powers, losing his hero, losing friends, losing his hopes… Loss.

But Anna had once said that they could face it, face all the sad things – and shit, that pain had been excruciating - and stay strong… One day they would see the tables turn.

Maybe it was now, the moment in his life when he took a new turn. And when loss left some room for hope.

Yata didn’t quite realize it. What had happened during this week. His life was going to change drastically, a sharp turn hovering above him… And it was too big, too insane, too unreal to acknowledge it yet. But there was also some certainty in all of this. And promises.

Saruhiko.

The redhead shifted in his seat and lowered himself so as to lean against the other, resting his head on Saruhiko’s shoulder. He closed his eyes. It was so unbelievable… sometimes it felt like his heart was going to stop. But he was ok with these new feelings… He was ok with being overwhelmed all the time. It felt right. He’d do it all over again.

“Misaki, you’re heavy,” Saruhiko groaned sleepily.

“And you’re bony,” Yata mumbled back, moving just enough so that he wasn’t being stabbed by the other’s sharp shoulder.

“Your fault for being so stubborn and sticking with me when you’re going to be a worldwide famous skater,” Saruhiko muttered, turning away. It had no connection whatsoever with the rest of the ‘conversation’, but it couldn’t be helped.

There was that, which preoccupied Yata a bit. Not traveling in itself. He knew it wouldn’t be a problem for him. But Saruhiko seemed to become more and more tense every hour as they closed in on their landing… “Hey dumbass. I still can’t fucking speak English. So you can sulk all you want… You’re staying by my side and you’re stuck with me,” the redhead replied, opening his eyes. He felt incapable of dozing off now.

Saruhiko had done the same already, and was looking at him.

“I won’t be able to go with you all the time,” Saruhiko replied warily.

“Yeah, I know. It sucks. But anyway, we weren’t going to be together all the time even if I didn’t get to skate and all, right? I don’t think your boss would let you stop working to spend all your sweet time with me. So, yeah… Maybe we’re going to be apart a bit but… To me it doesn’t change anything, Saruhiko.”

He grabbed the swordsman’s hand forcefully, playing nervously with those long, pale fingers instead of holding it properly. “I will still always want to come home to you.”

Saruhiko’s expression was blank for a moment as Yata felt his face flaming up with embarrassment. It didn’t help that the other wasn’t reacting when he tried his best to voice his raw feelings and…

“Did you just steal that line from that fucking movie?” Saruhiko deadpanned, pointing at the little screen on the front seat.

The skater, as gullible as he was, turned his head to gape at the screen before realizing that the swordsman was making fun of him again. And he scowled, hard, ready to give in and take the bait, if Saruhiko needed to pick a fight.

He didn’t, though. Saruhiko leaned into his personal space dangerously, clicking his tongue for the sake of it and he whispered in that low and husky voice that Yata lived to hear… “Then I guess you leave me no choice. I’ll always be a home for you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There :) I hope you enjoyed that simple story.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a 28 chapters thing but I'll post it in five parts.
> 
> Thank you SilverThunder for proof-reading all of it <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy.


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